Oh how I rue this deciduous time;
relentless in it’s passing year by year
while robbing memories we hold so dear,
and shedding yonker that was once our prime.
Through time we plod this monumental climb;
the cliffs of life we grapple fighting fear
while ever facing time’s relentless jeer
as youth is spent on chasing dreams sublime.
And yet we’ve heard it said that as we age
we gain more wisdom with each passing phase,
endowments mastered as life’s dream pursues.
But still with passing time the battles rage,
and loss of youth we shed as hopes abrase.
Deciduous time this aging poet rues.
September 3, 2024
In solitude I find silence, in silence I find my voice
In my voice there is song, in my song there is praise
My words near flawless, my ardent aria is Rejoice!
In pneuma I find solace, in solace I upraise
In upraising I see Christ, in Christ I see salvation
My servitude near flawless, my sins abrase
In my heart I have joy, in joy I have jubilation
In jubilation I feel triumph, in triumph I am victorious
My victory near flawless, my fear is not damnation
In reality I am imperfect, in imperfection I am inglorious
My willingness near flawless, my transformation glorious
Wisdom murmurs amid paucity of things—
seekers contemplative in cross-legged trance.
Pondering vaguities pensive meditation brings—
to apprehend with nonchalance of glance.
While to acolytes, such subtleties impinge—
denied are those of stifled grasp.
For in their minds a fetid dinge,
mundane failure to enclasp.
Stunted ones thus held in thrall,
ever signal their incurious pose.
While unmuted is a mounting wrawl,
from those abhorrent in appose.
The blind above in fog would lead,
who daily task us for our gaze.
They tire us with unending screed,
and we ignore while they abrase.
Rather would I summon stillness—
watch quiet water smooth a stone.
Free myself of this world’s illness—
love gently life I choose alone.
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