The Passing Wind

 I in frailty of mortal mind

Often grieve over life and the brevity of time.

For there much to do, and so much left undone,

When our days are measured by the rising and setting sun.

For I grieve for those who have no home,

And I feel pain for the aging ones dying alone.

I moan with the sadness of a war weary heart,

as I watch the strife and turmoil of a war torn world being pulled apart.

I feel the hunger of a young and dying mother,

as she in sorrows of passing days buries her sister and brother.

For the sins of man,

are evident in her dying land.

I hurt when I see,

Another soul succumb to HIV,

For they never again in life, have a chance,

to sing of grace, or in love to dance.

For life is often as brief as a passing wind,

It comes, and it goes, and is not known again.

For we are but a short memory in the span of time,

thus the reason that I grieve sometimes.

For It is my desire for all men to be free,

to live and love, and to have victory.

For there is too much hurt, and too much pain,

with too little time in this life’s game.

For I have seen too much for the frailty of my mind,

to withstand the woe in the passing of this time.

So I shall I suppose,

Watch in silence as the shadows grow.

For even this feeling that I express in this written word,

Will be like the wind after it passes…

Silent…and unheard.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004