The drawing, not the drive
Breath to thrive, not just survive
Thoughts composing into peace
The heart transforming into a fleece
Breath’s warmth as close to a fire
Dread quenched by the lips’ desire
Willing to wonder, but wandering
Stopped in stillness, now pondering
Deeper today than faster yesterday
Fostering tomorrow by learning to play
Forgotten tomorrows no longer by what I say
Sorrows grounded darkly in height
Clearer vision by decision from the living Light.
Target and bullseye.
The proof is in the budding.
Oh! So you made it through! Celebrate the gait empowered in you!
Removing the flip-flops
Flying by the feet of their dance.
The weak end.
Remove theoretical constructs that block wisdom, perception, freedom, and direct observation.
The power to grasp understanding.
Pride, prejudice, or expectation.
End less tomorrow.
Over playing my hand.
Is it really so mysterious how to take joy so serious that I can believe at length that the joy of the Lord is my strength?
Does joy mean humour or is that just a rumour?
Is there a method to this "madness" or is my humour really sadness?
The Lord puts laughter in our mouth from His "north" to our "south".
Does this cause our "south" to rise again?
Is this where our resurrection of joy begins?
Is this a question I ask of men or is this such a time
when my faith becomes kin?
Kin in such a way that I learn to hate sin?
Does hating sin remove the fun or is taking joy so serious that it's a pleasure in being a "son”?
George Landolt
10/14/2005
“Sees the Day”.
