Mercy's Undertow

 

Ah, we parade across graves filled with dust of bygone days

That gathered in the skin of grin and groans well-seasoned ways

That pulsed with life beneath hope’s oriflamme of grace and truth

That drew new feet to dreamer’s shoes once worn by yester’s youth

Before the tug of tick and tock drew them with hug and blow

To where we are today, pray, tuned to Mercy’s undertow

The seeds we scatter as we go will bear fruit in due time

Past, present, future’s fibril intricately intertwined

Where we can never sever consequence from choice and deed

As sure enough and soon enough the fruit will prove the seed

Where only fools assume somehow the harvest will not show

Our fear and love or lack thereof to Mercy’s undertow

How often our goals reflect more than we first perceive

As motive proves who we respect and who we live to please

Then this behooves us now and then to re-evaluate

What leads to what and in the end, its manifold estate

As Hello begets fare-thee-well, hold begets letting go

Last breath begets what yet waits beyond Mercy’s undertow

© Janet Martin

 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end; 

 they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

Lam.22-23