There is a time to gather memories -not my favorite pastime-
There is a day that brings time together in one bundle,
Where some pieces seem to far away
There is an hour to reminisce and ponder questions that bring a closure
Like a door behind me
Then there is a season called undefined
With a lack of tools and a need for insight
Forming itself slowly into a golden sun
New sunlight streaming from the hand of a father.
Then I don't recognize dreams of the future or plans for tomorrow;
Perhaps I won't have them,
And the stones will arrange themselves in intricate patterns on the sand
Soon to be washed away at tonight's tide line
Then the instructions arrive,
Long awaited details of life and breath, but not in English.
They sound like the bittersweet of yesterday
An echo in the heart of the unknown hour
Where I pick up one gray stone
That secretly warms my hand.
A time to scatter stones and a times to gather them... Eccl. 3:5
His splendor was like the sunrise; rays flashed from his hand, where His power was hidden. Hab. 3:4