Sometimes it happens
That stirring of the soul
That electric buzzing in the hands
The heightened awareness
Sometimes it comes without warning
Or comes when we call
This intuition we call it
That warns of disturbances brewing
This panic button of the mind
Dare we fail to heed its warning?
We call it our quiet voice
Or little bird talking
Even Holy Spirit
But it’s there by any name
Guiding us, leading us, warning us
Take not for granted your little bird
Your inner voice, your stirring
Heed its call and move to action
The next time you feel
It moving.
Photo: Stock Photos
1 comment:
That was an awesome poem. I hope you don't mind if I add you to my Journal picks!
Post a Comment