The Steps Near the Mountain of Life

The steps of life run endlessly 'round
Up into the mountains does the staircase resound

And when one aptly marks his place,
And observes his lot down by the gate

It may seem as though stairs and mountain shall not move
For any campaign or endeavors with tools

But Christ has said to his Disciples and men
That if in faith and by God they say
To the monstrous mounts to get hence from a place
That indeed the mountains shall rise and leave

So when you come by the Steps of life, and you gaze at the mountains, majestic in sky

Know that in Christ such mountains shall hence,
If in faith you say it, It surely shall commence.

Checkmate

Checkmate

The King had tried, but to vain, his every trick
He had but nothing left. Though deftly swung in blow and parry
Doughty King, Valiant King--He now could make no gain.

The battle was lost, he was much hard pressed
Enemy like rats amassed on every side
The King, his passion and ardor spent, he knew 'twas time to die.

The war had been arduous, and lengthy to say least
But throughout every battle, the King had met the time
But the noble King, indefatigable though he was
'Twas not omnipotent, there's only One who is such.

But here at the end of his long and chivalrous life
His kingdom gone, and at the end of the knife

He knew that he had been but a few steps too late
And now he accepted it--for it 'twas now Checkmate.

The Sleeping Dusk

As the Sun brightly sails down agin the West
I can hear the lark, sweetly singing light

And as the amber gold of dawn effuses to night
I can see picturesquely to days beyond.

And this brightness which is sailing out a fore me It portends to me that vicissitudes are not so rash
It portrays to me the wondrous scintillations
That only spring from God's omniscient hands.




And as the fiery Sprite doth luminate the heavens
And as it exhorts us one and all to look above

One cannot help but wonder at its beauty
And think of its Creator and His love.

The Vicissitudinal Direction of Time

Often times, in multifarious boughts of reverie, as often as when one dreams great dreams, quite certainly many an individual has come to the point where if one could take hold of the forthcoming hours of their lives, and keep them fast, and catch each moment firmly in their grasp so as to allay the ruefulness of their woefully lamentable and laborious states of mind and toil, it is portendable that there would be no minutes or hours left free of any person's hands, no matter how inadvertent or unattentive they may be. For while in theory many would ardently deny such a proposition, it remains easily within the disposition of the general population that they are much inclined to acquire better use of their time. For the doughty, valient worker who desires to exceed and excel in the various facets of life set agin to them, time is the chief plenipotentiary in which they use and invest most of their resources.
Time. Such a thing as one might wish all too vainly to be a thing consisting of static matter, of most predictable substance as which one might be able to receive ample remuneration for all their traversing and ungenial labor.
But such a concept of the object of time is obstinantly and painfully ridiculous, for indeed one of the forefront and perpetual motifs which describe it is the vicussitudinal nature of the passage thereof.
No man or woman by simple guesses or calculation can portend with absolute irrevocability or infallibility what shall ever come to pass. For because of the vicissitudinal nature of time, what may seem likely or imperative to occur may be exactly unequivocal to the actual event in time.
One would be well counseled and would be advantageous in retaining a sound composure in refraining from boasting from the scintillation of any day which has not yet passed the horizon.
For indeed, though poignant, it is that very fact which we must capitulate ourselves to:
The Vicissitudinal Direction of Time.

The Windows

Windows are a peculiar case

A pane of glass, it makes one think.

If one could ever understand, the way the skies do leap and span

Then maybe we might know our part, and think more often and ponder with spark.

As I sit and watch the daylight shine, as it rolls in to merrily chase away the night, I sit and wonder if all my days, I ever truly knew the day.

Have I known this archaic land? Can one ever understand?

The eyes are luminous, and through their whole,

They form a window to the soul.

And in this window, you see our land. You see the trees and skies and hand

The hand of God has been placed here

It's clearly seen, in the window there.

The windows of our land.

The Globe

The Globe

As I ponder, as I wait, and consider every scale with every weight, I peruse often times upon the idea, of what our world might be, if every day as we lived our ways, we would think beyond our dreams.

If we thought of the globe, such a timeless classic, and understood truly one tiny fact; if we clearly knew how incredibly insignificant we were, and how great our vast world was at that.

If only we saw how little we looked, from up beyond skies high above; if we saw all our lives as they genuinely were lived, then perhaps we might know how to die.

Snow

Snow falling
Drifting out
Drifting swiftly
Scintillating and stout

Frangible, wet
Unobtainable; Hard
The Fire sits and wonders

Quiet now
Obscure;
Coldly Dark
Mourning as a Winter Lark

The Snow has Fallen