My heart is not at home here in this city made of steel

My heart is greatly longing for a country breeze to feel

To savor a fresh moment of the dew upon upon the hill

To hear the subtle song that sings when everything is still.

♥

My heart enjoys the quiet of a forest’s babbling brook

It leaps for joy when there is beauty, everywhere I look

Through the windows of my soul, I want to see the mountain peak

The city can not offer the grand beauty that I seek.

♥

The smoke, the gray, the twisted, the congestion and the din

Are not the cravings of my heart, nor has it ever been.

The city is a-running and it never slows its pace

The people are a-running and there is anguish on each face

♥

But it calls my heart to yearning for liberation of these souls

How will they find the goodness that makes broken people whole?

The bombardment of the mundane makes them deaf to joyous song

They drown it out with other noise more raucous and more strong.

♥

My heart is not at home among this friction and this waste

My heart is longing for the peace of a different place

But though my heart is longing, I tell her “Heart, be still

For there is another longing which must now be fulfilled.

♥

Perhaps some just might listen to the beauty of the call

Someone here must sing it, though on many deaf ears it will fall

The call will draw them deeper, yet it’s high above the din

The still, small voice is only heard very deep within.

♥

He calls them out of darkness, and woos them toward His light

But one must see with spirit eyes, with faith beyond mere sight

Each soul could be a garden where the Creator would abide

But often when He calls to them, they want to run and hide.

♥

For sin has made their very souls, like the city where they dwell

Filled with filth unspeakable, in ways, a living hell

They hide within their trappings, their noises and their rush

But the Shepherd, He is calling, “Oh, soul, be still and hush!”

♥

So the country has its meadows, of quiet, breathing space

But the city has a field of souls all in need of grace

Each potentially could blossom as a fragrant, fruitful tree

So here amid the madness, I seek the beauty which could be.

♥

By Carolyn Anne Venable

© 2007 CAV

12-20-07