Who can rescue from the doldrums of dreary repetition?
And what defender of ravenous life delineates a requiem
Of lifeless life relived?
The call of the wild
Pales to the call of the mild,
When vision is slighted
And lifeblood runs thin.
__________________________________________________
The wild child looked at me and smiled.
He said, “Sleep so deep and count the sheep,
But wasting life will make you weep.
A yawn of weight may feel quite great
But an active heart prolongs one’s fate.”
So sleep when you must, but hardly the more.
If life gives you time, make haste towards the door!
“Carpe diem!” Clichéd, yet so true.
Grab hold of this day, it won’t wait for you.
Michael P. Van Gilst
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Precious, Youthful, Lost
Innocence embodied in child
Tragedy in fleshly same,
They end in sudden communion
And extinguish a youthful flame.
A mournful mother cries,
But the child sees no tears.
A wishful father sighs
When reality meets his fears.
Sons watch fathers die.
And sadness they behold.
But tragedy’s personified
When young ones pass the old.
From precious youthful lost
A parent never heals.
Though time may dull the pain
Completeness never yields.
While memories sustain us
They come at quite a cost.
The price of one’s own child:
Of precious youthful lost.
Michael P. Van Gilst
Tragedy in fleshly same,
They end in sudden communion
And extinguish a youthful flame.
A mournful mother cries,
But the child sees no tears.
A wishful father sighs
When reality meets his fears.
Sons watch fathers die.
And sadness they behold.
But tragedy’s personified
When young ones pass the old.
From precious youthful lost
A parent never heals.
Though time may dull the pain
Completeness never yields.
While memories sustain us
They come at quite a cost.
The price of one’s own child:
Of precious youthful lost.
Michael P. Van Gilst
Cloudy Sky
Cloudy sky, cool breeze night.
Stars don’t seem to show their light.
There’s one there, a fiery pair
Forlorn flames that share their flare.
But hindered view cannot erase
The memory of celestial ‘scapes.
I close my eyes and see them there
Glimmering, glistening, shimmering glare.
Nebulous nuisance to my eyes,
Yet my heart sees the lighted skies.
Each light hung in perfect ‘splay
Just for me to watch them play.
Michael P. Van Gilst
When we can’t see the stars, does it mean they’ve gone away? Isn’t it quite true that they’re still there? So it is with God. Sometimes we can’t see Him there, or see his brilliance, yet we know he’s there. How? Because we’ve seen the stars before and we know we’ll see them again. But more importantly, we know that above those clouds, the stars, all of them, are still shining just as brightly and brilliantly as they were before. God is always shining, even if the clouds block our view.
Stars don’t seem to show their light.
There’s one there, a fiery pair
Forlorn flames that share their flare.
But hindered view cannot erase
The memory of celestial ‘scapes.
I close my eyes and see them there
Glimmering, glistening, shimmering glare.
Nebulous nuisance to my eyes,
Yet my heart sees the lighted skies.
Each light hung in perfect ‘splay
Just for me to watch them play.
Michael P. Van Gilst
When we can’t see the stars, does it mean they’ve gone away? Isn’t it quite true that they’re still there? So it is with God. Sometimes we can’t see Him there, or see his brilliance, yet we know he’s there. How? Because we’ve seen the stars before and we know we’ll see them again. But more importantly, we know that above those clouds, the stars, all of them, are still shining just as brightly and brilliantly as they were before. God is always shining, even if the clouds block our view.
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