|Spinning [message #656]
||Sat, 12 December 2015 12:50
Registered: September 2015
You feel the rain on your face, think only of the cold|
And the suns rays - your smile wavers as the burn you contemplate.
The starry skies would draw your eyes,
And the wind through the trees speak of my grace.
Yet you walk on, unaware of the offering, carefully placed.
Bright flowers are trod, and kicked aside
Nothing can capture your spinning mind.
Later, your fickle heart allows you to marvel at a work of art,
A moment of clarity you appreciate the beauty.
You're drawn outside, to the quiet sky,
But another kind of beauty draws you back inside,
There again is that spinning mind.
When it's finally time to sleep you find,
There's something snagging at your dreams.
The moon is bright and you curse it's light,
The warm quilt is thrown aside.
Carelessly you speak a name, it has no meaning to you besides;
Another word to punctuate your angry diatribe.
A few minutes more and you achieve, rest without peace.
Another day, and it's cold and grey.
An oil-slick rainbow adorns a puddle -
A child laughs, but you just mutter.
There's no charm in pollution and decay,
But she'll learn this too, one of these days.
Years later you watch that same girl cry;
Her brother was asked a question, and for it he died.
The reporter who filmed her tears now looks away,
As a smile lights the mournful face,
because she's proud of him, and would've done the same.
You shake your head and wonder
Where is the evidence for her faith?
Night falls and your thoughts are quiet for a time,
Your wife is pleasantly surprised when you thank her for the meal,
And your son for his crayon drawing
And your mother is glad that you liked the new comforter.
Lastly you thank - your pillow - for its soft embrace.
In a candlelit hall, on a warm spring night,
You watch your son hold hands with his new wife.
You'd been dwelling on work as they made their vows,
When you heard him thank the Lord for his new bride,
You looked up in surprise; he was genuine.
You raised your brows, you hadn't known he knew Him,
When did that happen?
Now you're old and nearing the end of your days,
And you ask God, eighty years late, to make himself known.
Your mind, always spinning, calms and slows.
Flashes of oil-slick rainbows and nagging dreams...
The voices of loved ones seem to speak, and you hear, clearly:
I gave you the stars, and the elements and the trees, but you refused to see the beauty.
Often the gifts I gave to others drew your mind; invited you to find me,
But you were distracted and never tried.
So I put people in your path, who tried hard to introduce me.
Patiently I let you spurn my gifts, and thank others for my blessings.
In all your life you never thought of me,
Yet if I'd forgotten you for a moment, you'd have ceased to breathe.
[Updated on: Sat, 16 July 2016 14:28]
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