Farewell's Shadowlands

Oh, the undeterred momentum of moments no one can faze

It sparkles through our bearing to a world of yesterdays

It vexes rhyme-dazed poets and Duty's proprietors

As it hastens new morning through noon and dusk's gaping doors

Where, in the wake of choices that we make in its brief chase/grace

Remains the part that never stays yet no one can erase...

The above ditty was suddenly inspired from part of a 

conversation with Hubby this morning, who called

in the beginning/middle of the poem below,

begun after starting the fire, morning devotions

between putting supper in the crockpot,

filling empty bird feeders,

answering messages, texts and emails,

and other sundry domestic dues,

 while trying not to panic as

 I gaped at the clock that boldly declared

that the topic I began writing about

(daybreak's hello) in the waking hues of today

has long since ceased to be...

already part of farewell's shadowland!

but, in the afore mentioned conversation 

Hubby asked me if I ever think of everything

I could accomplish if I didn't write.

I guess none of us can see the hidden 'scale' within,

 where we weigh (hopefully) the eternal value of how we fill

fleeting moments!

Oh, how often I am torn between lyrical cadence

and domestic prudence 😔😅

...because what we do is so brief

yet so eternal!

Dawn, like an unplumbed well of ink

Unstoppers gold-gray, blue and pink

The tranquil tides of night soft-wane

Unveiling berths of mirth and pain

Beneath the tolling of a bell

Unfurling shadows of farewell

The halo of hello is brief

Harbinger of pleasure and grief

Like ripples of a pebble tossed

Dawn disappears; its advent lost

In hues and dues that rose then fell

To fuel shadows of farewell

How subtle spills life’s epitaph

A world where echoes weep and laugh

Composed from the momentous surge

Where daybreak and hello soon merge

Like melted mist, intangible

With long, deep shadows of farewell

Present, where past and future meet

Beckons reckonings, bittersweet

How careful-prayerful we should weigh

Think-ink, that fuels do-and-say

Soft spilling from our lips and hands

To dwell in farewell's shadowlands  

© Janet Martin

Ps. 121

I will lift up my eyes to the hills—

From whence comes my help?

2 My help comes from the Lord,

Who made heaven and earth.

3 He will not allow your foot to [a]be moved;

He who keeps you will not slumber.

4 Behold, He who keeps Israel

Shall neither slumber nor sleep.

5 The Lord is your [b]keeper;

The Lord is your shade at your right hand.

6 The sun shall not strike you by day,

Nor the moon by night.

7 The Lord shall [c]preserve you from all evil;

He shall preserve your soul.

8 The Lord shall preserve[d] your going out and your coming in

From this time forth, and even forevermore.

A Beautiful Life-Jim Reeves