Monday, October 19, 2015



by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)

A fleeting mist
mortals appear
on any given day;

as this sweet fragile mist
clay too faces decay;

still behind us
exists a trail
amazingly we lay--

remnants of our presence

as dew drops

on a blade
of grass lifted by a brilliant sun
then gently laid
as whispers play

by breezes softly blowing;

blessed momentoes moistening
our thirsty spirits
groaning within

as we attain as eagles

Since questions boggle
curious minds
leave limbs a barrow weighted

a spoken or a scripted word
can clear deep doubts
and raise real hopes
anxieties and fears abated.

Winsome pins impressed as ink
on parched or woven pages
as windmills to a seeded plain
promote growth to endure the ages,

help explain
hidden hurts
these puzzles
which aggravate us.

They reach inside
a solid chest
and give a gentle squeeze

to caress
a saddened frozen heart
into pumping again with ease.

So don't dismiss
these dew drops
as small, by any means

for God watches
even weary teardrops.
In His memory
they do remain

till He erases

our constant unending pain
from thieving enemy: Death.

This lovely faith
we must maintain.