Another day has dwindled to a trickle
of light at the horizon faraway.
The moon appeared as a blade of sickle.
What harvest is it gathering today?
Is it my meditations and my prayer?
My head is heavy, but the paper’s white
expects of my insights a fair share
before my thoughts are swallowed by night.
The memories, like broken mosaics,
fragmented, mixed with problems of today
and disappointments of casual mistakes
are offering a wide range display.
But in these patterns hopes are inlaid:
some – transient, some of enduring kind,
and one them could truly never fade,-
it’s sparkling always brighter in my mind.
It is the hope of my soul’s salvation,
of seeing Jesus in his splendid light,
removing from my life condemnation,
and giving to my heart a sheer delight.
In promises eternal rest, my soul!
No need to fret about what’s ahead.
This hope gives me peace and does console
with words of truth that Jesus once had said.
29.05.2019