In Love With The Lord

A Prayer for Lunar Floors

Imploringly look up and ask the heavens if angels traverse their lunar floors of transparency, for little flowers are born to live, unconscious of half the pleasure that they give. In my mind's eye you are like a cloud, slowly surmounting some invidious hill rising out of darkness. The bright work, glad, through a perfect love pokes, a faith sincere and drawn from the wisdom that began from fear. If only you understood how much you are loved. Only those can know who have gone winging into the breathless spaces of eternity. Then you would hear and understand the voice of the music. Receive the timid hope and innocent desire, shot from dancing graces as they move, fanned by the applausive wings of love; where wisdom, beauty, and truth with order dwell in endless harmony.