O, boisterous clouds,
Why do you pout on high?
With friction so among you,
Will lightening too,
Not soon cross the sky?
In bumping heads,
You cause the thunders burst
Then in your sorrow weep
And once again your tears,
Quench earth's thirst.
I stand alone surveying aloft,
Your strength and might.
But then like curtains,
You're parting once again,
For God's sunlight.
Seeing a rainbow hanging,
In a distant portion of your sky.
I need not ask the question,
Where do you go
When not in sight,. or why?
Say not to me,
that it will not matter a hundred years from now,
that I was here.
For surely I have touched one life in a positive way,
perhaps in daily prayer
I've called your name one day.
Having no profound accomplishments or delusions of fame,
and leaving no progeny
to perpetuate my name,
still, it will matter that I was here.
For I have quietly endeavored to sow, and I have watered.
I love and am loved--should one desire more?
Life is good and hopefully God is pleased.
The tracks I'll leave, it's true,
will not be so ingrained as to stand harsh winds of time
and they shall fade as the evening sun,
leaving somewhere, only a name and date chiseled in granite.
Perhaps, if only in thought,
one pausing o'er me should question, who was this man?
Let God simply whisper, that I am His.
My heart was burdened with much concern,
For a person whom God placed in my path;
While the rationality I did not easily discern,
Obedience allowed me to escape His wrath.
This assigned duty which was bestowed,
To me alone, & 'twas from God conveyed.
a friendship from this single act has flowed,
From those incessant prayers once prayed.
I ask not,
That You remove temptations
From my life;
But grant me Lord,
The strength to overcome.
Life, an hourglass,
Where days are sand.
God holds each grain,
In outstretched hand.
We strive to adapt,
To life's ebb and flow.
And each falling grain,
Causes gait to slow.
Often, during aging,
Time is rutting our face.
Even pigment in our hair,
Time will replace.
Such will be life,
Till our last grain falls.
That day cometh,
When the Sand Master calls.
Written: by Tom Wright
Life, isn't like a relay,
With participants off and on,
Nor is it like a sprint or dash,
But more of a marathon;
Many start a race for Christ,
But too soon tire and rest.
Spiritually out of shape,
Will not put forth their best;
In giving man His chosen,
God accepts from man no less.
For salvation is a know so thing,
Not feelings or a guess.
We must daily run, not tire or quit,
When encountering one more hurdle.
Life isn't start, sprint, and fade,
But in finishing, Like the Turtle.
At love's first spark when in youth we were,
That crackle and snap of pine cones burning.
Aflame at first then as embers glowing,
Time has left us now, in thought, yearning.
The spark that was, has waned, not fizzled,
We still fit each other like hand and glove.
In our hearts there could have been no other,
God authored our one true lasting love.
Just celebrated 46 years
the tiny leaf,
made it's way to the ground.
For another of God's creations
life has ended;
A short life it may seem;
Only a season.
Such is it with the life of man.
Man is here,
only for a little season.
Time is fleeting,
and after this
Are you one of life's many players?
Wearing a mask so others can't see;
Hiding feelings, won't let them show,
Absent from what reality might be.
Do you go through life supposing?
That you're the master of your life's all;
But when things in life are amiss,
It's then upon God you call.
Do you often reminisce things done?
Perhaps from a time when weak;
Because we've all worn this mask,
and of these things won't speak.
I've oft thought that I'm two people,
To most, my feelings I won't show.
The hurt that lies within,
I wear my mask so others won't know.
Oft times the path we choose in life
Be it the wide or straight and narrow.
We think we're traveling all alone
But God knows of the falling sparrow.
While on this path we oft succumb
To the world and it's sinister ways.
We meet those that we grow to love
In which we share our lonely days.
Together while enduring the valleys
We gaze toward the mountains tall.
Wondering if we'll reach the summit
And who will catch us when we fall?
Mayhap we think of some friendship
That due to path was neglected or wasted.
We do our utmost to reclaim the years
To restore that which once was tasted.
But life is a Smorgasbord of alternatives
So divergent path's, make life, you see.
I pray that if our paths never re-entwine
We've both chosen the one meant to be.
Dedicated to a special friend, Shirlene