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Written by:
Paul thomas
Ireland

Life

At certain stages of life, contrary winds blow our way;
Winds of irresistible force propelling unto unfamiliar territories.
We fear for our lives.
We panic for tomorrow.
We crave for the morning and wish the night away.
The more we hope that succour will come the more intense the wind blows.
Hope then begins to fail, strength evaporates,
Confidence ebbs and faith gradually fizzles.
The thought of tomorrow stirs fear in our hearts.
Triumphant it seems yesterday; today melancholy it has become.

They call it the kaleidoscope of life.
Chanted songs of victory replaced by the vagaries of hopelessness.
The sceptre of victory conspicuously displayed when we triumphed in battle.
Life seems so alone.
Darkness seems perennial.
Laughter withers for joy has taken flight.
Gladness punctured by bitterness.
The heart is heavy from the darkness of uncertainty.
Bring me a maestro of songs that my spirit may cling once again,
To the dazzling stars of starry nights.

The heart sinks from the weight of helpless pursuit.
Cacophony of voices pointing the way,
Desperately longing for patronage in the vast ocean of endless beckoning
The orchestra ceases then silence descends.
The rendezvous once a delight now a worrisome burden.
The dew will soon be due and it will be morning.
The refreshing of day staggers darkness into the background.
The fierceness of the night suddenly tamed by the steady gaze of the rising Sun. Across the horizon, behind the hills lies the dawning of hope as day breaks.
The gentle breeze of a virgin morning smothers the hurt.

Life sluggishly obeys the course of creation.
All creatures bow to the dominion of creative ingenuity.
By the strength of day all begin the process of survival.
The jaded night hid in the lurking corridors of broken spirits;
Waiting to be rejuvenated at the dusk of day.
As we travel slowly through the shadowy path of endless dreams,
Today the hay; tomorrow the dust.
Strength belongs not to man.
He is but a passing phase in the whole calculus of divine computation.
Yet boastfully he prepares for tomorrow unperturbed by the complexities of realism.

Perplexed by the supremacy of infinite wisdom in whose grasp life subsist.
All but shadows we desiderate.
We persist to touch the endless stream of the mundane.
At the sight of ambience and serenity life rekindles,
Hope surges and life takes a flight.
Life flutters like the wings of a great eagle,
Hasting away from the border of time.
Dare to live, if you can
Live it, love it, use it and leave it.
For however long, it is nothing but a passing shadow.

Shalom.


Paul Thomas
Ireland

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