As this New Year’s Day draws to a close,
Enjoy a bit of celebratory and sober prose.
This world is not but a jot,
History will change when the times do not.
The older i grow,
The more sure it is to know,
That there is not much to separate the quick and the dead.
For all together await rapture or dread.
Here and now! O fellow traveller and God above,
is this mortal life all that I have to love?
This new year harkens resolute promises like a sirens call,
they beckon me surrender my affections one and all,
to the alter of self made temporal hope.
A new day and a chance to scope
a path in which in my own efforts I find my fill,
to throw off the tyranny of yesteryear with a thrill.
Yet here as I sit and rock in my youngest child’s room,
I remember this life is but meant to be but a temporal womb.
A long ago melody fills my mind to dare not trust the sweetest sound,
but wholly cling to more solid ground.
I mustn’t settle for that which last not;
I must dare for more than this mortal plot!
Do not declare this or that is my lot!
For pilgrims are not settled in a foreign land,
they dare not trust their fate in their own or in times fickle hand.
Christ is Lord, so rest my soul and say,
To him alone guide me to along our shared Way.