Romanticism Poem

Lying on the roof,
with thoughts swirling.
My mind’s unending spiral.
The stars start whirling.
The trees spinning,
I can’t focus.
But I must stay,
I must refocus.

On this rooftop,
I am but a speck.
Yet at this moment,
I am infinite.
Among the stars,
a trailing beck.
Reminds me of beauty
that’s infinite.

So many signs,
of a Creator.
The stars, the trees,
everything has design.
The nature around us
points to a Maker.
It’s easy to see
his glory devine.

The scent of pine:
So calming.
No longer in the spiral
My thoughts finally docking.
No longer riding,
the waves of fear.
But the Lord is in my heart,
I can tell he is near.