Yes; I Pondered
by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)
Twilight dawns.
Morning yawns,
as deep dusk still muffles
this days awakenings;
hazily fusing
yesterday's musings
with renewed promise
again today.
Outside risings
mentally pushed aside,
deflected
as four paned windows
do reflect as mirrors--
Me. My divided secret 'hides'
inwardly abusing.
A pearl to find:
A whole contented soul.
An inner peace; "Please God.
Provide."
Through glass I gaze
though pupils glazed
amazed I am
to image see
a hand delt Kings,
an Ace of Spades,
some local cards;
higher rank already played.
Does fate rule?
Bind with total control?
Or do I pray...
Which cards to hold?
When to stay?
When to fold?
My eyes dart around
the table
Studying
faces diverse
curious to behold.
My mind a wonder:
Am I able to count my cards.
Beat the boss?
Game it safe?
Circumvent losing in horrid disgrace?
Keep my cool
straight and steady?
Lock my place till I am ready?
Or does the Owner know my way?
Did He peek my large joker?
Will He blow bitter upon me
to cause my fall, my shift, my sway?
No.
Cold, he's not
devoid of heart.
Wise and loving.
Compassion--His Art.
Infringe upon our glorious
freewill--a gift of His
revoked on command?
Impose demands
morbid fear instill?
No. This would be imperfect man.
As the birds begin to sing
at the specific time to bring
a melody beautiful denoting spring
my image now a vanished thing
I realize
I decide; I chose
my life's destination
not predestined, written or
proclaimed. I set my path.
I select which road.
And in the end
its aftermath.
Morning yawns,
as deep dusk still muffles
this days awakenings;
hazily fusing
yesterday's musings
with renewed promise
again today.
Outside risings
mentally pushed aside,
deflected
as four paned windows
do reflect as mirrors--
Me. My divided secret 'hides'
inwardly abusing.
A pearl to find:
A whole contented soul.
An inner peace; "Please God.
Provide."
Through glass I gaze
though pupils glazed
amazed I am
to image see
a hand delt Kings,
an Ace of Spades,
some local cards;
higher rank already played.
Does fate rule?
Bind with total control?
Or do I pray...
Which cards to hold?
When to stay?
When to fold?
My eyes dart around
the table
Studying
faces diverse
curious to behold.
My mind a wonder:
Am I able to count my cards.
Beat the boss?
Game it safe?
Circumvent losing in horrid disgrace?
Keep my cool
straight and steady?
Lock my place till I am ready?
Or does the Owner know my way?
Did He peek my large joker?
Will He blow bitter upon me
to cause my fall, my shift, my sway?
No.
Cold, he's not
devoid of heart.
Wise and loving.
Compassion--His Art.
Infringe upon our glorious
freewill--a gift of His
revoked on command?
Impose demands
morbid fear instill?
No. This would be imperfect man.
As the birds begin to sing
at the specific time to bring
a melody beautiful denoting spring
my image now a vanished thing
I realize
I decide; I chose
my life's destination
not predestined, written or
proclaimed. I set my path.
I select which road.
And in the end
its aftermath.
© Lucretia Mccloud, 4 minutes ag
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