Do you feel it in the air,
A sense of something coming?
The likes of which you can’t compare,
An insatiable longing?
A growing wave forms steadily,
Just breaking the horizon.
The tide comes in readily
Beyond the bounds of reason.
Oh beckoning breeze, you welcome me
Preemptive of fruition.
Anticipation builds frantically,
A mix of hope and tension.
Some may dread and fear unknown
Recourse of such submission.
They hide away all alone,
Afraid of vain delusion.
But no, not I, my purpose forms.
I’ll hope for nothing less
Than providence amidst the storms.
My life, my King shall bless.