Poetry

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This gentle thing called life
Can seem more like a shark,
Or an undertow,
Pulling you steadily, mercilessly
From your moorings,
And all that you hold dear--
But so subtly, unseen from the shore
And the casual eye of passerby.
Why do we cling to what we know?
Why do we fight so hard, when all
We've felt is pain and sadness?
I guess there's something in this
So gentle life, something that says
There's more--somehow you'll find it--
Hang on. A newborn babe speaks to me,
"Look, we keep coming on."
There must be something they know,
One essential element of happiness.
Perhaps it's the joy and the surprise of
Waking up tomorrow, and God's still here.

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