Saturday, April 14, 2018
Every Child's Unspoken Plea
by J.D. Edwards
My soul it brims and overflows
With wonder, joy, and pain, and fear.
Keep full my soul with all that's good.
Train me to hold my virtue dear.
My sense it sifts and wrestles with
How it might think, and trust, and know.
Show me what lasts and what is true,
The fruit of wisdom seeds to sow.
My sight it bounces craving for
New colors, shapes, and forms, and lines.
Please! Guide my sight to search, then rest
In love when it true beauty finds.
Copyright © 2018 Jason David Edwards, Castle Rock, CO. All rights reserved.
The Few
by J.D. Edwards
Most face each day as the last one, begrudging the slow-turning clock.
Many use claw, tooth, or dagger to edge toward the front of the flock.
Some know sweet moments are fleeting, but feel trapped on a train with no door.
A few lay down all that they strove for — rich in love when in spirit most poor.
Most get a job for the wages, as the means to a self-serving end.
Many can balance desires: endure work to afford a fake friend.
Some still envisioned a garden, then surrendered to relentless weeds.
A few dig down deep till their passion can somehow serve the world’s deepest needs.
Most run for cover and shelter when a tempest begins to blow near.
Many abandon their promise, clinging much less to virtue than fear.
Some live in constant suspicion, convinced that new death-clouds will form.
A few make time daily to anchor their hearts before facing a storm.
Most think that Truth is opinion — each person holds claim to their own.
Many think thinking is futile, content to leave well-enough alone.
Some eyes were opened to Wisdom, then to Most and to Many they fled.
A few once-starved pilgrims still hunger and seek 'til on Truth they have fed.
Most lives become long-forgotten, blown by the wind like thin straw.
Many still hide behind image; their loved ones don’t know them at all.
Some die in wars of past decades, the cause being far out of view.
A few pour their lives out for others. May we now live and die as The Few.
Copyright © 2018 Jason David Edwards, Castle Rock, CO. All rights reserved.
Most face each day as the last one, begrudging the slow-turning clock.
Many use claw, tooth, or dagger to edge toward the front of the flock.
Some know sweet moments are fleeting, but feel trapped on a train with no door.
A few lay down all that they strove for — rich in love when in spirit most poor.
Most get a job for the wages, as the means to a self-serving end.
Many can balance desires: endure work to afford a fake friend.
Some still envisioned a garden, then surrendered to relentless weeds.
A few dig down deep till their passion can somehow serve the world’s deepest needs.
Most run for cover and shelter when a tempest begins to blow near.
Many abandon their promise, clinging much less to virtue than fear.
Some live in constant suspicion, convinced that new death-clouds will form.
A few make time daily to anchor their hearts before facing a storm.
Most think that Truth is opinion — each person holds claim to their own.
Many think thinking is futile, content to leave well-enough alone.
Some eyes were opened to Wisdom, then to Most and to Many they fled.
A few once-starved pilgrims still hunger and seek 'til on Truth they have fed.
Most lives become long-forgotten, blown by the wind like thin straw.
Many still hide behind image; their loved ones don’t know them at all.
Some die in wars of past decades, the cause being far out of view.
A few pour their lives out for others. May we now live and die as The Few.
Copyright © 2018 Jason David Edwards, Castle Rock, CO. All rights reserved.
If You Get to Care for a Tiger
by J.D. Edwards
Who doesn't a good shepherd choose?
Who spits on a care-giving hand?
But who so flock-like oneself views?
Think me soft, and you misunderstand.
With proper reverence did Blake behold
The stunning fierceness of who I am.
While Songs of Innocence may serve the fold,
I'm much more Tyger than The Lamb.
Now, please don't vilify, as Kipling did indeed,
My cunning, calculating style.
I only pounce when a kill is guaranteed,
But when I'm fed I'll stay a while.
You would otherwise not ever know,
Since such as I don't thrive in herds,
And neither circus nor zoo could ever show,
So heed, kind shepherd, these vital words.
Tigers are a work of art — unique and captivating.
With symmetry of fire every movement is adorned.
If ever herded, held captive, or forced through flaming-ring,
Hell hath no furry like that of a tiger scorned.
If you get to care for a tiger of any size
(And I share this for your own sake),
Feed, protect, and esteem as rarest prize
All that I am, without mistake:
In Eden's age the most vicious creatures still were blessed
By a royal pastor's patient care.
In green pastures, even tigers can find rest;
An open, trustworthy hand can guide me anywhere.
Copyright © 2018 Jason David Edwards, Castle Rock, CO. All rights reserved.
Who doesn't a good shepherd choose?
Who spits on a care-giving hand?
But who so flock-like oneself views?
Think me soft, and you misunderstand.
With proper reverence did Blake behold
The stunning fierceness of who I am.
While Songs of Innocence may serve the fold,
I'm much more Tyger than The Lamb.
Now, please don't vilify, as Kipling did indeed,
My cunning, calculating style.
I only pounce when a kill is guaranteed,
But when I'm fed I'll stay a while.
You would otherwise not ever know,
Since such as I don't thrive in herds,
And neither circus nor zoo could ever show,
So heed, kind shepherd, these vital words.
Tigers are a work of art — unique and captivating.
With symmetry of fire every movement is adorned.
If ever herded, held captive, or forced through flaming-ring,
Hell hath no furry like that of a tiger scorned.
If you get to care for a tiger of any size
(And I share this for your own sake),
Feed, protect, and esteem as rarest prize
All that I am, without mistake:
In Eden's age the most vicious creatures still were blessed
By a royal pastor's patient care.
In green pastures, even tigers can find rest;
An open, trustworthy hand can guide me anywhere.
Copyright © 2018 Jason David Edwards, Castle Rock, CO. All rights reserved.
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