Some see life as travail,
What we do has no avail.
We may weather the gale,
Still, I feel I am out on bail.
I’m gonna sit down to wail,
Still, there is hope, all hail.
Life not just reading braille,
If I hit the head with a nail.
Jonah did live inside a whale,
But came back to tell the tale.
Thru thick and thin may I sail,
Never to see the inside of a jail.
To follow the road, even a trail.
By living life, we shall prevail,
To finally, happily, lift the veil.
Doubt and falsehood to assail,
As we reach beyond the pale.
IT TAKES GOD-GIVEN FAITH TO GO BEYOND THE VEIL. TO LEAVE WHAT WE THINK WE KNOW AND STEP INTO WHAT WE DON'T KNOW...GOING FORWARD NOT BY SIGHT BUT BY THE 'LIGHT' OF BLINDNESS!(HEB 11:1 * 6)THERE IS GREAT REWARD, AS 'HE' PROMISED. THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
I'd rather go through life believing there is a God and die and find out there is one than to go through life not believing there is a God and die and find out there is one!! 'Enjoyed!
today we find something to have a loss tomorrow, and vice versa; but a Pandora's box is best to keep firmly shut. Again, very often such a Pandora's box is the mouth. That's the reason why a written poetic word sounds stronger. A lovely piece of poetry. Cheers, alex
The most arresting aspect for me in this poem is the awareness you evoke relative to the many ways and degrees we create these veils of denial or fear. The way the world turns now, we may never "...happily, lift the veil. Doubt and falsehood to assail, as we reach beyond the pale.
it isn't easy to create a poem with rhyme endings for each line and still come out unforced. As for life, I go where God leads me and I thank him profusely for my freedom to choose. When I get to go to the other side of the veil, I hope I find him there smiling. Keep lifing it my friend, God loves a faithful man. Thanks for sharing your thoughts John, , your poem sits great aside my coffee this morning.
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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Love ya!
Jane
Ron