Today and Again

Do you ever have to slow down and find your center? It can take time to remember who you are and for what you are meant. We so easily get lost in chasing the things we need and want and plowing our souls under the toil. Stillness helps us see our persons; music can raise us; reading can picture us; art can show us reason; writing can free us.

We deserve to live creatively and with such love that we feel we can accomplish our hopes and dreams. Some find inspiration in a relationship with Christ Jesus; some follow other paths. As we meet in lives so often hectic, we need to share love and kindness no matter the circumstances in which we exist. Our differences make the world fascinating and rich. We learn much when we open ourselves to one another.

Stepping out of space and time to give ourselves peace to clarify our goals is worthwhile. Sometimes this is done in silence, some creation, some before the eyes of the world. Whatever our method, we must never give up. We are the outworking of the prayers of generations; our promise and purpose must continue.

Today is the moment we grasp; it is our time to build within. Letting it slip through our fingers is not an option—love, love, love. We should be a blessing in whatever places life carries us. Time and again, we can begin a better beginning, for we are living gifts.

Celestial

Some tell me the stars
Hold me, describing my fate;
I think they shine light
Into the deepest darkness
Lending me strength to begin.

When the sky above
Burns like a bonfire aflame
Upon such a plane
The confusion enhances
Every blessed moment timed.

I plucked, like fine fruit
For display, banquet, table,
Where grace finds its place
Making everything stable
Until dawn convenes with song.

Rich the scattered hours
No creature may fast devour,
But explosive spent
In ceaseless labor unmeant
To torture the evening ways.

The stars have lived long,
Being a beginning staid,
Forever music
Played those spheres united, untied,
What we know, guess, still survives.

Pocket Lament

Pockets,
Oh,
Pockets,
Why are you
Always given
Over to the males?
Here we,
Such genteel
Females
Are bound
By weight of
Purses!
Maybe some
Manmade
Pleasure done
To encumber
Us in some
Kind, way,
For Lord knows
What might occur
Were both our
Hands empowered.
Even enlightened
As these times are
One may not
Depend on
Fashion,
For pockets can
Be often false,
Others too
Small
To carry
Much.
Designers could
Give
Consideration
To cost
Of female
Liberty lost.

If…

Murderous?

Why step on the bug,
Out here on the sidewalk paved
With the intention
Of leading us place to place –
No obstacles in our way?

The bug is minute,
It barely forces a step
Aside the margin
Leaving the path to follow –
If we are daring enough.

Why is the bug here?
Is the memory hidden,
Of the fear once known,
When the world was wilderness –
With doubt explored, overcome?

How are we now grown,
That the innocent insect
Raises our instinct
To kill, destroy, and conquer –
When victorious – we are?

Found superior,
How are we very challenged
By creatures beyond
Our overwhelming control –
Are we from nature estranged?

The bug is wonder –
For it continues, exists,
Outside reckoning
To eliminate its life –
Clinging loosely, it persists.

Prompt: Reach for a subject that touches you differently.