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.
