Cresting waves drone out their song,
The night winds blow through the reeds,
Distant thunder rolls out timpani percussion,
They practice their praise - for their audience, The King.
The expansive brine rehearses purposefully - never still, never weary,
Breakers sharpen their complex syncopation,
They rehearse each movement in perfect synchronization,
The shores swell with anticipation - as Creation’s Father draws near.
A thick black tapestry is drawn, dimming evening’s light,
It’s reflected ambience illuminating ocean’s center stage,
The cast is waiting, the atmosphere surreal,
Let worship rise, let it begin - for The Lord of Glory is here.
Bursts of light leap and ignite, dancing from cloud to cloud,
Winds swirl, waves churn, stirring worship from deep within,
Drops of rain plunge from heaven above, becoming one again with which they came,
Every movement, every sound, perfect and unfettered - a magnum opus, indeed.
Laser lights tap dance compulsively - thunder claps in time,
The tide churns in vehement celebration,
While sea grasses undulate in ardent devotion,
Passion and fire, impetuous and free - a felicitous worship for The King of Kings.
Then, suddenly hushed, a most holy moment ensues,
Only the crests still reverently sing,
The sea oats lie prostrate,
And creation rests - for Jehovah Shalom is pleased.
The Word of the Lord glows brilliantly above,
Giving definition to vapor, proof of the intangible’s existence,
It shines it’s light over all that remain,
And all creation waits with anticipation - until the Lord of the Dance returns.