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

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a time

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Henri LeBasque

Strong is the pull
to Mother’s womb
a time of innocence
gone so soon.

Stronger is inherent drive
to Father’s gaze
a time for worthiness
reverence and praise.

greater will

hassam

Childe Hassam

I wonder in color,
dream in vivid hue.
count blessings on hands and feet,
awaken amid waxing blue

The days ever so bitter,
the time ever so lost.
all safely tucked away now,
forgotten tattered and tossed.

Optism is the brighter way,
joy is better still.
when hope and trust in greater things,
are resting in Father’s will.

(c) 2018 Rick Stassi

Solace

van_goghO, those ways of drawing
curious and inquisitive
thoughts from deep
within my hopeful mind;
I cower in the forward
and steep in the grace
of the backward.
Where is now and how
do I anchor this
vessel on present moorings
to really see life in
three phases:
with tomorrow
hovering and yesterday’s
covering and today
marking step in steady
pace for true solace.

rick