See it in the eye; feel it in the will.
Too weary to cry; can not climb the hill.
Life should not have gone this way.
My angel forgot ‘twas my day
My muse was missing: off to play.
I got a bum deal. What’s to say?
Bag of worn out tools; blueprint smudged and grey.
Dream the dream of fools; awake within the fray.
Shadows, wraiths and ghouls steal my hope away.
Suffering appears my lot.
my appointment fate forgot
all my efforts came to naught
ashes now my riches bought
Poisoned air I breathe; exhale poisoned more
As I writhe and seethe, hopeless anthems pour
Yet I can’t believe that this I’m fashioned for.
Hope to faith and faith to sight
Sees life from death, and day from night
From seed to tree from frail to might
It’s all I have to bring things right.
There are people in my world who have it undeservedly hard. Their stories could drag a tear of sympathy or a cry of indignation from the coldest stoic. I don’t pretend to understand the random hand of life. Though I care deeply, I come across as coldly analytical or as simplistically optimistic.
I am an early riser. I’ve only suffered from true depression a couple of times, but I have looked around on a day and said “How did I get here and how do I get out of this?” At such times, the heavens seemed silent.
I have a grand child staying with me who did nothing to deserve his lot in life. True! It is a weeded lot. I wish I could change it. But the dandelion has caught the wind.
Early on, he seemed to have all the “brightest and best” potential. Yet at the grand age of 10 he has lost his vision and has become angry. It’s hard for my bounce out of bed personality to see his answer. Maybe I’ll find 3 friends and we can tie him to a gurney and haul him to the Great physician. But if he’s like I was in my time of despair, we’ll need to muzzle him so a proper diagnosis may be made. But then, I guess God doesn’t really get ticked off or off track like man does.
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