I am trying my hand at poetry again, and I apologize in advance. It seems a fascination lately. It is very difficult, and the more I do it, the more I recognize the wisdom of sticking with prose. Any way, here's another stab at it.
Money in the bank and a big screen in the den Ensconces me in luxury and gives me inner peace. Regimen of good food, racquetball and sleep Promises the good life, but the portrait has a crease.
Working day by day, I erect a mighty wall Protecting and providing a comfort-life that soothes. But at times in waking hours the doubt clouds creep, Obscuring the horizon of my dearly held "truths."
My appetites, all natural, drum the cadence of my walk, Pull my heart along, and shape the rhythm of my days. A puppet on a string, I serve the master of the self, While looking far beyond to find a Lord of higher ways.
The purposes of life far transcend the urge of flesh, The hunger of the stomach, or the power of a throne. Within a man is spirit, a God-created soul; And calling him is meaning, far greater than his own.
The glory of the Father cries out from all that is. His majesty radiates from sun at rise and set, The lacework of the newborn frost that comes at winter's dawn, The call of loon, the roar of falls, the weave of spider's net.
And yet the God of splendor does not isolate Himself From man, who, in His image, He has crafted from the mud. He calls us to a partnership of ministry and life To reach out with compassion to hearts of flesh and blood.
Breaking through each morning, a new light burns through mist; A purpose slaying restlessness and resurrecting joy. Brighter still, each day a light shines forth from my life To show the world His power and love, His mercy and His hope.
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