Stealthily, they creep
Like children on Christmas Eve down the stairs,
Or as cats track a mockingbird, all unawares.

They won’t be held back;
They don’t regard trifling things, like money.
Onward, onward they proceed, smoother than honey.

I have named them thieves,
Wayward gluttons, consuming all they touch;
What’s taken is gone, never returned, desired much

They are those and more.
But with another breath, I call them kind;
Too fair to be forgotten, the gifts left behind.

Thieves? Kind? Which are they?
I sit in my corner and try to decide;
Half full–Half empty–I can’t say, but I have tried.

Years have come and gone.
Treasures they’ve taken; Great gifts they’ve bestowed.
I have a record, a heritage, an abode.

Still years sneak by me
Rapidly now; so much faster they roll.
Yet God walks beside me; while I push to the goal.

 

 

“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow.  What is your life?  You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”
(James 4:14 ~ NIV)

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.