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by Denny Lancaster
231012
At times, exhausted by life we all endure
of long days labor with success un trodden,
I lean upon my library, from it's books I hear
tempest winds that bellow nightly profound
and the howling hurricane wind whose fear
destroys nary a dream my heart has found
when sweet visions will not soon disappear,
and doubt does not hem me in all around.
Then my mind turns to the ones lost,
with shattered souls in storm and stress
alone between sea and heaven afar;
I think of those who are turned and tossed,
needing help in times of their distress,
despairing as if clinging to a lone spar.
And from one book heard father who said,
as about the children of the tempest swayed,
lay ye down on life's soft sweet feather bed,
not in a morbid bier with vain hope delayed
for in friends whose hope does not sink but last,
is a virtue where hope dwells dense and vast
and all distress is covered by the silent shade.
I arose from this peaceful slumber awash, aglow
filled the pouch and secured it for seed to sow
and into the garden of life whose path we trod
while carefully tilling the brown earthen sod,
to plant the seeds given to me, one by one
while around me past lives lurk and some spun.
Footnote: Dreams are not frequent now as they were in my youth, but a recurring dream has been of someone crying out for help. Then one early morning
this past week and not being able to go back to sleep, the poem began to emerge from my subconscious until finally a few days later A Time To Plant and A Time to Sow was completed.
The picture used with permission to illustrate our poem is The Book of
Revelation by Joakim Rannikko.
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