Hidden Places

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Heron Haven, Omaha
Copyright (c) 2011, Samantha J. Penhale All Rights Reserved

Rest: entered into, permits mystery to unfold.

Discovery releases what was, and reaches for tales untold.

Savoring strands of story, my Spirit-girl grasps, watching and waiting. Next things.

Dancer. Intercessor. Compelled, I spin Spirit’s cocoon. As with wings.

Draw near, whose feathers cover.
Where beneath its pleated places, in sacred moments and spaces
You catch your breath. Angels hover.

Rush a rest: flee Communion.

In Sabbath: Fully rise beneath the mantle that beckons within.
Meted in Glory, man alone cannot withstand its form.
Yet he who finds his name etched into its beams, care-worn;
When in due time, fully unfurled in the Glory of the King,
It is fitted to him as a breastplate, a coat of mail, a signet ring.

Rest.

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