Time’s ocean roars up to dawn’s doors and rushes through,
its ether hue
Soon splattered with life’s that and this as bit by bit its tides
undo
The ties that bind and soft unwind a lonesome ache upon the brake
That bars our feet from bitter-sweetest swells of past’s
vast frozen lake
Time’s billows heave and often leave the sojourner of it
aghast
At how it spills and deftly fills our sorrow-joys fearless
and fast
Before the door to yester-yore, soundless upon the evening
air
Swings slowly shut where flesh and blood cannot break
through to enter there
The Brigadoon of bygone June may taunt us from its phantom
grave
Yet moments swoon and chase high noon across shorelines
wave over wave
Where still we spill our sweating will in tears and groans
upon its sweep
Without much proof of highs and lows as on it flows from
deep to deep
Time’s ocean roars across the shores that held the break of
day at bay
As sailors scan horizon-spans for hope to cope with
come-what-may
And there it is; unfailing grace from He who cradles
faithfully
Within His everlasting hands Time’s sacred span of man and sea
© Janet Martin
What am I looking for? I asked myself as I stared into the
slow unveiling of fresh white on the morning, trying to persuade myself that it
isn’t so bad. What is it that I am trying to find? I ask again and then it hits
me…Hope! Hope for the day and its come-what-may, so I pause and pray. ‘Thank-you
God, oh Captain of the Deep guiding our vessels in Thy careful keep.’
Love that prayer. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThank-you Lucy.
ReplyDeleteHugs and prayers, mother-to-mother and sister-to-sister(())