Aging Cycles
Like a stone set in a wall, like a rail-car in a train. . . can’t see the beginning, can’t see the end
like an ever-spinning wheel
a mandela of the mind, when you know you’re getting old
maybe you’ve seen this turn before
maybe not.
While in the yard the flowers grow; they bloom; we croon
old snippets of melody, long forgotten tales of joy and trouble. . .
Is it rubble or. . . is it treasure. . . this phenomenon of Life,
full of joy yet filled with strife. This has all happened before
but not exactly the same way, or so they say,
because times change; the world gets rearranged.
We come and go, speaking of Michelangelo
or Warhol or StarWars or I wanna hold your hand
Again and again and again.
There’s someone walking next to you and she’s been there
for forty-five years. But now. . . in moments of quiet repose
as the blooms in the garden transpose
their glorious color given over to the bees
who harvest pollen with such ease
Bees buzz; blossoms turn to fuzz
while we ruminate on what will be, or was. . .
The pollen, my friend, is blowing in the wind;
But it will blow ‘round again.
So the circle will not be broken, by ’n by, Lord, by ’n by.
There is a better home awaiting. . .
in the sky, Lord, in the sky, by ’n by. . . but you gotta believe:
theres’s a gospel thread you gotta retrieve;
So keep your hopes set dead ahead
in the greatest story ever told
when the boldest of the bold
let life be robbed from Him
so he could raise it up again.
Now through ages of trials and time
Life is recovered, in your old mind
behind the circle in the spiral, within the ever-spinning wheel
where half-forgotten names and faces
take their pit-stops from the races
of this life and strife
and Life itself plays its aces:
Everlasting Life!
But do you believe that ole tale?
I’ve got some real estate for you for sale!
The cost is already paid
at Calvary where the Victory wreath was laid.