‘New Year’s Eve’ and Other Poetry by Martin Rizley

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New Year’s Eve

So swiftly tick the minutes to the close
Of these twelve months, this day, and life itself!
Which jars of clay will stay upon the shelf
Another year, and which will break? God knows.

For only He who gave us life has power
To take us from this world when He deems best,
That’s why our hearts will beat, at His behest,
Our lungs will breathe, until that final hour.

The sands of time must sift, parched flowers must bend,
Dry leaves must fall, and waning flames must die;
But who can know when that set hour draws nigh
For each of us to meet his earthly end?

Should chilling winds this year pluck bare my tree,
Or sand grains cease, O Lord, then gather me!

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To My Running Mate

At break of day, I greet you, dearest friend,
And with the dawn, my solemn vow renew
To run with you this race, which we pursue
To seek a victor’s laurel at life’s end.

We run in tandem, striving not to thwart
Each other’s gains, nor seeking to outpace
Each other in life’s all-consuming race;
We run as one, that neither may fall short.

For in this contest, self’s the only rival.
We fight to win—but not against each other!
The foe within, besetting sins that smother—
Against these foes, we struggle for survival.

We help each other daily to advance,
To run each lap, with steady pace enduring;
And when I’d halt, your sweet face, so alluring,
Fills me with strength to run, to leap, to dance!

When I’d drift out to sea, you draw me shoreward.
On chilly days, your nearness keeps me warm.
Rejuvenates my fleet, but fading form,
And keeps me always running, moving forward.

At times, when I have stumbled on the way,
You’ve grasped my hand and urged me to go on,
You’ve stayed with me, when others would have gone,
You´ve been my rising sun at break of day.

And when at night, when things have seemed so black,
And unseen fears, like hungry wolves that howl
Have made me want to flee, throw in the towel,
You’ve helped me stay the course and keep on track.

Stick by my side, as life’s last beams decline,
And if you turn and see me not beside you,
Keep running still! Let God still gird and guide you,
And know I’ll be there when you cross the line.

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Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. Martin has enjoyed writing and reading poetry as a hobby since his early youth.