Flame Of The Heart

She sits, captivating attention
And yet, while sitting, she is moving
Flowing, ebbing
Like a flag, drawn in the wind
But there is no breeze
No movement in the trees
The vision is herself a sound
A stream of ethereal beauty
Caressing a broken soul
That may not have

Longing, with no return
In desperation trying to fill
The empty feeling
Nothing is enough for him
Save provision from
The One who meets all need
Supplying more homely a beauty
Repairing a wounded soul
That will not have