The Harp

I am at times an unwilling harp.

Don’t touch my strings!

I know I’m out of tune,

Strings worn, broken or missing,

Singing my song of pain.

Alone.

Then I hear the first few notes of your heart,

Your harp’s plaintive chords,

Touching places in me

I didn’t know were there.

Tears spring up unannounced.

I listen.

The words of your song

Finally penetrate my mind.

I hear my name,

Sung from a heart of love.

Your song written for me.

I weep.

I open my heart,

Offer my harp to you,

The Master tuner, lover.

You tighten, you loosen,

You remove and replace,

And you play.

Is that me? Can it be?

That this harp could make

Such beautiful melody?

Valued, nurtured by love,

This harp sings again.

Our song.

What’s that? Play your harp?

What? You would allow me

To pluck the heartstrings of

Elohim, God Most High?

“My heart is laid bare before you.

Play, Beloved.!”

I am my Beloved’s.  He is mine.

He plays the strings of my heart,

Sings my song,

And invites me

To play his harp over others.

The Melody of Intercession.