Groans

Sometimes I can fly.
The spirit gives me wings and I soar.
The truth on my lips,
a transcendent joy.
And I sing.
But not with my voice.
It is my soul.
A glorious symphony;
the harmony weaving a tapistry with the melody.
The notes lift me higher and higher.
There is no fear.

Sometimes I cry;
Wallowing in the pit.
A world full of lies,
a temporal despair.
I weep.
But not with tears.
It is my soul.
A potion of rejection, brokeness,
loneliness, failure and loss.
The cup that I cannot bear.
There is only fear.

What is this life?
Must I come down if I go up?
Reaching the mountaintop
only to fall down... down.
When will I run and not grow tired?
When will these wings carry me to rest?
When will I stand in the Son and know only happiness?
Please. I want to go home.