As I struggle through my relationships, trying to find the space between contentment and adventure, I fail to temper expectations within the scope of reality. It is this constant tension that often seems to oppress and overshadow.
I certainly do not want to look back and see the years have gone by wasted hence my poetry from last weekend, while camping along the Verde River, in the shadow of Bartlett Lake.
rivers green
trees blown
dust flying
empathy seen
fears shown
romance dying
truth gleened
hope flown
renewed trying
Then upon the morning renewel, as I sought quiet time on the banks with the rising sun, I collected my thoughts, and penned the poem below:
the bird calls over
the rush of the river
just as God’s voice
beckons over the
rush of busy-ness
so quiet your world
enough to hear
the call
Life is too short, too precious to spend it wasted and jaded.