The Whisper That Found Me

I have wandered through seasons of noise,

through rooms 

crowded with echoes of expectations.

I have wandered through seas of choice,

paddling the canoe of opinion

amidst waves.

Yet it was in His stillness

I heard the sound,

I was too deaf to hear:

that familiar rhythm of belonging— 

I have engraved your name in my palm; 

You are mine.

Inkhorn Literary 

He speaks. We write.