Poems, Personals, and Commentary

Posts tagged ‘imagination’

Tale of the Rat: Two Sequels

THAT FEARFUL THING

That fearful thing did quiet lurk.
It disappeared into the dirt.

I dreaded to that thing go near;
With apprehension I did fear.

I set a trap to catch that thing.
I’d catch it good, with trap to sting.

I knew it must a monster be.
I knew it lurked to get at me.

What wonder did my eyes behold —
‘Twas not a rat, but lizard bold.

It looked benign, it stared at me.
It did not jump — sat quietly.

And now I’ve given the thing a name.
My fear misplaced — it’s not to blame.

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IN DARK SHADOWS

In dark shadows live our fears;
In half-seen pictures, fear comes near.
In hidden places lurk our doubts;
In darkest alleys, doubt comes out.

Our thoughts get twisted, tied in knots —
Contorted, garbled — truth it’s not.
Imagination — it runs wild.
We’re fearful like a little child.

Until the light of love turns on,
Until God’s truth shines like the sun.
Until we give Him all our fears —
And then He calms and dries our tears.

A Little Girl

A little girl can sometimes sing,
Can flit about on angel’s wings,
Can dance with fairies, now unseen,
Can be so sweet, or contrary.

A little girl loves daddy’s whiskers,
She doesn’t mind that they are ticklish.
A little girl sits on his lap;
Head on his chest, she takes a nap.

A little girl has wondrous dreams,
On unicorns she’ll catch moonbeams.
She gathers starlight in her hands,
She dreams of being a princess grand.

A little girl in time grows up.
She gives up dolls and other stuff.
But every woman’s heart can tell —
Inside, the child is living still.

The Bookworm

On my nightstand in a pile,
Lie twenty books or more.
Inside each one I’ve read a bit
And then found them a bore.

Yes, this is one I’ve read before,
And that one’s just too gross,
Another one’s too shallow,
The fourth one’s too morose.

Perhaps these lands of fantasy —
Where books my soul do bring,
Can they no longer satisfy —
Reality’s the thing?

But as a child I wandered,
Devoured every word.
One book a day I swallowed
And ate the printed word.

And still I’ll wander to those lands
For, yes, they help me dream
Of that which can, or yet will be,
Of worlds as yet unseen.

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