2000 ⁽⁴⁾

What use was she, this child? Yet, she tried: she’d gather up her tears and hide. God looked at her, His child. “Soon,” He sighed: one day she’d see the tears He cried. Never truly a child: ’twas denied until she blossomed by His side.

Some read books with an eagle’s eye. Some watch TV to find out why. Some use fingers to read a book. Some use their ears to take a look. My nose and I don’t use a book! I read the wind to take a look.

Man’s finest hours – mortal’s best emerge all bruised and torn, quite unaware God’s perfect rest: endeavor, human-born. Yet, other souls, in humble trust wait upon God’s power, to rise blood-bought victorious above the cruelest hour. To never strive (tho’ told we should), our thoughts…

Into the velvet darkness, how it beckons and appeals. Remove from me the human roar that daybreak oft’ reveals. Untamed force? It thrills some souls, but, it’s like hell on earth to me: the clamorous, the reckless leave me tired and gloomy. GOD gently whispers…