Writers of Non-Fiction

Because I can't stop thinking of how it's eventually going to end
Because I can't stop thinking of how it's eventually going to end

Woken
Get out of bed Jerusalem
Wake up
Put your face in the sunlight
God's bright glory has risen on you
The whole Earth is wrapped in darkness
All people sunk in deep darkness
But God rises on you
His sunrise glory breaks over you
Nations will come to your light
Kings to your sunburst brightness
Look up
Look around
Watch as they gather
Watch as they approach you

Our neighbor two houses down
Committed suicide
By turning their car on
And closing the garage door

At sleepovers we use to
Play the pass-out game
All the time
Where you stand up to a wall
Up against a wall
And
Somebody pushes on your chest and makes you pass out

How am I blind to The beacon of light?
(I can't stop thinking of how it's eventually going to end)
What is my place to be a painting on display?
(We're hypocrites; liars; hopelessly, if we're honest)
How am I blind to The beacon of light?
(But maybe it's not going to end)
What is my place to be a painting on display?
(Maybe Perfection can only be collectively seen when the hopelessly dark are made light)
(Wake up; and become writers of non-fiction)

How am I blind to The beacon of light?
(One time my grandpa's picture flew off the table in our hallway)
What is my place to be a painting on display?

There was a swing at the back, in the backyard, next to the creek
And I would swing on it and sing
And it felt like I was the only person on Earth, there
I use to pretend that the woods went on forever and ever