Your gravity pulls our strings
Changing our tune, like the colours of the night
Not easy to see what it is we hear
It is mostly nothing but then,
Then it is disturbing;
That shouldn't go with this which never works with that.
God who should be drawing out harmoniously well behaved music
Stooping into this dissonance ?
Stooping, when really You should be in heaven, with all those harps
Like a proper God.
But I'm glad You are not as we imagine
And though these strings ache at every pull,
There is the pattern
Of something beautiful and eternal being created.
WILF Jan 2017