I have such grand thoughts
That are lovely to me,
But nobody wants to listen.
Can I be so wrong 'bout my heart's myriad songs,
When nobody wants to listen?
Could I have evolved from some alien race
Of some other time or some other place?
When I look in the mirror my face is your face,
But nobody wants to listen.
So I sing to myself,
Put my words on a shelf,
And hope in some space in
Some life I may find,
An ear and a heart
From some kindred start.
Oh, so long we'll both speak, smile,
And listen.
March, 1996
June
Thursday, June 23, 2016
HUMMING ALONG
I believe our prayers are to God's work,
Something like a person
Who gets to hum along to a symphony.
God's plans and purposes are complete
Unto themselves.
God, the Composer and Musician, is
Pleased when His audience appreciates
His music enough to hum along,
But knows that His symphony
Stands on its own.
Our humming along is something that
Adds nothing nor takes away anything
From the Masterpiece.
The Master loves us enough as His children
To enjoy our babyish addition to what
Is already Perfect.
1994
June
Something like a person
Who gets to hum along to a symphony.
God's plans and purposes are complete
Unto themselves.
God, the Composer and Musician, is
Pleased when His audience appreciates
His music enough to hum along,
But knows that His symphony
Stands on its own.
Our humming along is something that
Adds nothing nor takes away anything
From the Masterpiece.
The Master loves us enough as His children
To enjoy our babyish addition to what
Is already Perfect.
1994
June
TATTERED
On the outside I look strong and whole.
But on the inside, like an old flag,
Exposed to the sun and wind,
I am Tattered.
My colors are faded, my cloth is thin.
I am torn and weakened and threadbare
By days and nights of life's elements.
I long to be lowered to the earth...
To be enfolded by the Strongest Arms...
To be held to His breast.
That the wind of the Spirit,
The wind that mends and strengthens rather than wounding
And draining,
May enter my every fiber.
Thus may I be unfurled in the strange
Sun and wind of that world,
My colors changed to unspeakable hues,
And my finished pattern revealed
To the timeless skies.
1994
June
But on the inside, like an old flag,
Exposed to the sun and wind,
I am Tattered.
My colors are faded, my cloth is thin.
I am torn and weakened and threadbare
By days and nights of life's elements.
I long to be lowered to the earth...
To be enfolded by the Strongest Arms...
To be held to His breast.
That the wind of the Spirit,
The wind that mends and strengthens rather than wounding
And draining,
May enter my every fiber.
Thus may I be unfurled in the strange
Sun and wind of that world,
My colors changed to unspeakable hues,
And my finished pattern revealed
To the timeless skies.
1994
June
THE UNSEEN HAND
When the bare world presses,
Press to see the Unseen Hand.
When the cold world clutches,
Reach to feel the Unseen Hand.
When the hard world screams and rails,
Dance and sing the Unseen Hand.
When fear surrounds each breath,
Dream the greatest dream you can
Of living in the Unseen Hand
When hope, not faith is all you have,
The best dream is the Unseen Hand.
1994
I have been reviewing some of my poetry and songs from the past and feel led to share them on this blog, since that is now an option. So the next posts will include poetry that has not been included previously in the "Poetry" Tab.
June
Press to see the Unseen Hand.
When the cold world clutches,
Reach to feel the Unseen Hand.
When the hard world screams and rails,
Dance and sing the Unseen Hand.
When fear surrounds each breath,
Dream the greatest dream you can
Of living in the Unseen Hand
When hope, not faith is all you have,
The best dream is the Unseen Hand.
1994
I have been reviewing some of my poetry and songs from the past and feel led to share them on this blog, since that is now an option. So the next posts will include poetry that has not been included previously in the "Poetry" Tab.
June
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