Time the elusive king,
At times belabored, each minute holds eternity as the years rush by.
The seasons change and the children grow, as our spirits long for Him.
The great I Am, in the here and now, why are we always seeking the next?
Our nature so stubborn and contrary.
I long to be the bird flying in each moment of ecstasy,
Reaching the heights of the heaven,
No care in its feathers — free to fall, a child's souvenir.
I yearn and reject simultaneously the complexity of the most evolved... or not?
We waste our youthful energies on the superficial masks,
Upholding the burden of illusion until the weight becomes so heavy our shoulders ache.
We yearn for human touch, yet fleeting it will so soon fall, the vanity of it all.
Why do we waste our breath and crush our spirits?
The rivers teach us otherwise in their flow so effortless and pure.
The rocks soak up the back-rubs, cooling and caressing without a thought or care.
The hours pass so slowly, how to fill each empty moment?
We try to feign an interest in these small and minor acts,
Yet all the while knowing our powerlessness before the Great One.
How to walk with joy and gratitude, when the weight of mere existence presses upon us?
Some days the end seems so inviting, but those we leave behind
Will then be the ones to carry the loss of what you were called to hold.
They will long for your container of that which is most high,
The container of the one who resides.
We breathe and continue to sow a path of sorrow,
Gain strength to carry on, despite the humidity bearing down on our souls,
Calling to that most deep of slumbers.
We climb the stairs once more, pleasuring in the dull ache of sore muscles and bones,
Our funny companions so loyal and warm, remind us of life.
We plow, we plot, we think too much and another day is gone.
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