Up from the chair, Matthew arose, From the hum that held him in its throes. A vibrating seat that would not release, Bound to its fifteen minutes of peace.
It buzzed and it whirred, a steady refrain, A comfort, a habit, a gentle chain. Holding him there in its timed embrace, Keeping him fixed in one small place.
But something within said, “Now is the hour,” A whisper of freedom, a stirring of power. So up he stood, though the chair still called, No longer content to remain installed.
For life is not lived in cycles confined, Nor purpose fulfilled by a resting mind. Sometimes we rise, though comfort is near, To answer a call we’re meant to hear.
Ecclesiastes 9:10 (KJV) “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might…”
Not steel alone, nor fire and flame, But beating hearts that dare to claim The path once walked, now walked anew— Through silent skies, by faithful few.
They carry more than suits and gear, They carry hope, and human fear. A glance at Earth, so small, so bright, Reminds them what they hold so tight.
No crowd above, no sound, no cheer, Just whispered prayers that God may hear. For in that vast and endless blue, It’s still a human point of view.
And as they arc ‘round moonlit gray, They bring our fragile dreams their way— Not just to reach what lies afar, But show us who we truly are.
Psalm 8:3–4 (KJV) “When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?”
