We strung up lights and put stars in the sky,
and she held me as we danced
over rain-kissed earth.
I listened as the voices that calmed me most
sang our favorite lines in breathless whispers.
We ran into wet grass
with fingers intertwined,
and the sky’s contented tears ran with my own.
I dipped my hands
in a stream of puddles,
wondering if happiness like this
could be felt—
but I caught their voices calling for me,
and I knew that if not touched,
such happiness could indeed be heard.
I might have had too much coffee,
but few recall such things while
gripping the phone at half-past midnight.
Aside from our beating hearts,
the rest of the world lay still
in a night blacker than my empty mug.
I could have poured my heart out to him,
but the lights flipped on and it wasn’t relevant anymore.
He held my trembling words in shaking fingers
and tried to speak,
but hearts bled instead of words—
and I knew that if not heard,
such heartache could indeed be touched.
I stood at the edge of a dark sea of stars,
feeling no love in the cold wind at my cheeks.
The full city lights
screamed emptiness back at me,
refusing to restore
everything that was missing
and everything that was slipping through my fingers.
My eyes burned
and I felt blind to the city colors.
I drew with silver strokes
in the hopes of catching a glimpse,
but a lump haunted my throat
with every mark of moonlit crimson—
and I knew that if not seen,
such anger could indeed be tasted.
I stared down at quivering hands
and wrapped them tightly around hers.
I felt his squeeze mine,
holding together the scattered pieces.
My head found her shoulder,
resting an ear born hungry for promises
I could never believe.
Sword drawn, grip whitened;
these were wars and hearts I would not lose.
I wanted to feel that I was safe—
but as I watched my hands shake,
I knew that if not tasted,
such fear could indeed be seen.
If You are my rock,
I am the waves crashing around You—
a tempest with impulsive tempers.
You are my rock,
my constant, my touchstone.
I am constantly changing,
but never scattering the glow
of Your unshaken lighthouse.
You are the joy that can be heard,
the comfort that can be touched,
the grace that can be tasted,
the safety that can be seen.
And I know that if not always felt,
such love indeed belongs to me.
Cindy Green is a forest-wandering, poetry-scribbling stargazer with messy notebooks and messy thoughts. Despite her love for all of God’s creation, sunflowers and stars in particular have a way of sneaking into both her writing and her heart (but you won’t hear her complaining about it). She is an amateur sword-wielder with a Highland-dancing warrior spirit who also writes letters to the moon and considers the sky her best friend. A focused daydreamer, organized pack rat, and oblivious observer, she is a self-professing ambivert (or a living contradiction) who deeply feels both the beauty and fallen state of the world. Through her words, she hopes to describe the indescribable and form personal connections with people while reflecting a love for her Savior and a passion for everything she touches.