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April 24, 2014

 

I came to the river and stood by

its shore, wanting much to cross

to the glory beyond its torrent

the realm all my life had dreamed

but dared not wade or swim, too

deep the current was and fast

no man could cross and live

a boat was there, old and worn

its pilot kindly stern, his blistered

hands firm upon the oars, strong

like time itself could not weaken

his grasp on what he would hold

nor years take their toll from him

however much they passed him by

seeing me standing, frustrated, he

began to row but I told him stop

I didnt like his look, I would

cross the stream on my own or

not at all, to which he merely said

that the only way across that river

was him, I would not attain glory

without I used him and his boat

maddening me beyond reason

arrogant, judgemental fool, I

called him to his face and he

softly weeping, let me have my

way, left me to prove he was

wrong, but couldnt, no matter

how I tried the stream defeated

me, washing me up on rocks

on muddy shoals, on deserts dry

always on the shore I longed so

to escape, never once on the side

of glory and all that spurred me on

was the sight of him and his foolish

boat, rock solid in the wild torrent

 

waiting

 


Each New Day A Miracle
Copyright Peter Rhebergen
All rights reserved