Form: Found poem
In face of rising morn,
fatigue takes its leave.
In a majestic landscape I stand.
Fear, too, takes its leave.
I stand as witness to
the tender compassion of
in my most difficult hour,
has given me strength to reach
above moorlands, above the clouds,
above the winds that lift a soaring eagle high.
I stand in the shaft of His warm light.
Sweat become tears – sweet tears of joy.
Featured image: Photo by Brooke Hoyer (CC BY-ND 2.0)