In one moment we remain,

As sober as the next.

So capable to refrain,

From emotional unrest.

Yet at other times, be sure,

In a chaos of the heart,

No stabilizing cure,

By which the anarchy departs.

Is it circumstantial,

The cause of our dismay?

Or is it some level,

Of maturity we display?

We need look to the Designer,

The Author of our being.

Finding comfort in His demeanor,

In that He is all-seeing.

Think not on the appropriateness,

For the state of your soul.

Rather, rest in His attentiveness,

To make your brokenheart, whole.