Meditations of a Pearl

~It’s so hard to see in this place.
So deprived of even warmth as a comfort.
Nowhere to hide from the loneliness inside
The soft, cushy beddings beneath me beat me up.

This irritating, grating, infernal thing.
It won’t let go, and deeply I am suffering.
Keeping tender so life can keep me well-rounded
Or hardening myself and becoming a less beautiful thing.

This insignificant, minuscule granule–
This meager task I am given to do, bearing up under life’s weight
Around me the ocean of political and circumstantial upheavals swirls by,
Toying with my shy shell like one of an angry child’s legos.

It is endless, futile, like the sun’s faint glow which doesn’t warm me here.
My fists may clench like my teeth, unwilling to swallow the silt life thrusts me into
But anything kept in my fist will escape the moment my pearl sees the sun
That day when my tired muscles shall give out,

Whether by the prying knife, the ravenous creature, or the cruel, stony washboard of life
Eventually my deeply and closely guarded treasure will emerge
And through sifting be surfaced to be found by the Merchant.
May He find a pearl of great price.

~Inspired by T. Austin-Spark’s sermon, “A Pearl of Great Price.”

Vanity (A venting of feelings)

Futility’s ache of timelessness borne
In a time capsule that drifts downstream
Between eternity past to eternity future
And conveys us before the scrutiny of Angelic eyes

The winding of a clock ticking in purple space
Floating endlessly in an expanse of starry hosts
They study how the Glory of God looks
When flowing steadily in one direction.

AICH! Those capsules that encase eternity entrapped
Down the tube which we call finitude which isn’t so bad
Except for the corruption that has corroded the metal
That would have preserved time’s treasures unwasted

Oh the loss of precious seconds, those synovial drops
By which the clock-works turn their increments
Over and over, made pointless not by the repitition
But the emptiness that accompanies the incredulous tick.

Daddy, Time-Keeper, Heart-lover, friend-forever,
I spit out time into a cup like lukewarm water.
I etch out the daily grind of losses repulsive and unnecessary.
I cry out for meaning in this enterprise I take.

Why do the hours cake over my heart like mud?
Why can’t the hours be burned up in flames
Fuel for the passionate heart that utilizes
All the stuff of life, so nothing goes to waste?

Come, O God, show Your glory in this outcry
Little sense comes from seeking worth in vanity
But instead let me find my worth in You
So that I can somehow maintain humble sanity.