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A Simple Prayer
Crown my head in gray, dear Lord,
__And bless my tangled tongue.
Return to me the mystery
__I knew when I was young.
Before the echoed scorn of cynics,
__Before the sophist’s sneers
Condemned and then converted me
__And ground me in the gears
Of mundane acquisition’s clock.
__Behold the jester’s prize:
A stick with hanging golden carrot
__And blinders for the eyes
That once looked round in youthful wonder
__At all Your hands had made,
Dimmed by fleeting glimmers sparked
__By treasures doomed to fade.
Restore to me the power I had
__To see with childlike grace,
To marvel at the morning sun
__And trace the stars in space.
Lift the veil of reason’s pride
__Let awe be my reward,
And let me walk in mystery,
__With trust in You, my Lord.
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Well Into Dusk
Well into dusk I came upon this spring
once more, I know, because I’ve passed this way
a time before. It is the damnedest thing
that thirst itself compelled my steps to stray.
The day’s distractions either work or play,
the wayside stops, the golden dead-end roads,
I sought for shelter when the skies turned grey
and chose to bide in an unfit abode.
Time dulls the senses and the years erode
the sting of hunger and the pain of thirst.
Avoiding water where I knew it flowed
I hid away from what I sought at first.
Well into dusk I come upon this spring
and dare to drink; it is the damnedest thing.
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Marc Gilbert manages a poetry board called The Tangled Branch. His poems have appeared in a number of journals over the years, including The Lyric, Mind in Motion, Riverrun, and The Avalon Literary Review. He designs software and creates online courses in computer programming and game development, and lives in Wakefield, Michigan.
These two lamentations of the discrepancy between youthful faith, trust, desires compared with those of a life lived with seeming regrets is all too familiar as reflected in your well-done melancholy poems.
The first poem, which was moving, reminded me of Mark 10:15.
Both are lovely. Thank you.
Thank you for the kind comments.
Marc
“Crown my head in gray, dear Lord,
And bless my tangled tongue.
Return to me the mystery
I knew when I was young.”
I did a double-take while reading this. It reminds me so strongly of GK Chesterton.
Thank you, Rachel. I can only wish I could write like Chesterton.
Marc, these are beautiful. Recovery of the simple, childlike joy of attention and appreciation (and wonder!) have been modest goals of mine in my retirement, and so far I think the slowing down process is beginning to work its magic.
Thank you, Daniel.