squander moments

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Morisot

Where is my wisdom?
I seek to reconcile –

What I started,
I shall finish.

I have missed my purpose;
I have squandered a moment

Outward man shuns
Inward man.

My reflected image
Does not live.

I am fleeting –
Fading heartbeat in temporal death .

Alas, O swaying sapling
At wind’s command.

Your strength
Wanes in melancholy.

Dissipating, needing God,
His guardian eyes.

I know He is here
I know He waits.

Rick

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Dust

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Picasso

Aligned with vanity,
So much disappears
That holds hope;
That leads thought;
That blows away.
The dust knows not
The wind nor the ground –
Making peace with each
once, in a while.
Can it be my soul?
A foot on the rung
That Ascends,
Temporal to eternal.
Or, the heart of faith?
Firmly grounded in perspective
Greater than a day.

How shall I be?
Who am I now?

The heavenly voice
Engraved on my heart,
Shall ever be
The place where my soul
Is firmly cleaved.
And I shall be revived.

“My soul clings to the dust;
Revive me according to Your word.”
Ps 119 25,26

wind

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Where on the earth
Does the cold wind end?
I should wish to be,
Right where it quits,
All tired from blowing with
Low pressure fits.
Does wind just fall
Upon awaiting ground,
Continuing to death,
Without a sound?
To join once more
In softly seen air –
Gently brush your cheek,
Muss up your hair.
The wind shall kiss
In quiet delay
The forehead of sweetness,
In love’s sweet obey.

future gaze

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I wonder if I’d found some way,

to circumvent those fruitless tries,

truly to avoid –

by some degree,

a pocketful of

deceitful lies.

 

When these questions might’ve been asked,

subject seldom was ever raised,

but now answers –

take life’s past portions

and blend with present’s

future gaze.

spring rain

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Pissarro

Character held is surely defined,
by moments poised in a single line.
The ability to see and clearly hear
the messages borne from a passed year.
I hope i can be that man
who seems to go to things at hand –
to embrace the path he walks upon
and never dwells on passages gone.
I pray my wanderings are not pretend
and I’ll cross the Jordan to journey’s end.
O darkened sky shall not disdain
a promise given is God’s spring rain.

Rick