 |
| Home Page |
|
| Back |
| Quiet Time |
| We bustle here and there again. What quiet time is there for us, To stop and think and sit? And then We hurry on to catch the bus. Technology has uses, so We say. Yet is there more repose Than yesterday? I think not; no, Our busy schedule only grows. To stop and think and meditate, Is foreign to the modern ear. "We're wasting time! We'll all be late: Instead of being there, we're here!" O think of things eternal now! Don't wait until the end of time. We're right: we're wasting time. Somehow, We stopped that thought right on the dime. Turn something off! Make life less hard. Make things less noisy in the room. For time's a gift, yet we regard It little more than money's loom. - Adrian Keister 10/9/2000 |
| The Writer |
| Not knowing what his thoughts should be, Not knowing what his words could be, Not seeing what the others see Or bending to the world's decree; The writer sits and waits for what He does not know. The Muse has left Him, and his thoughts are desolate, A lonely place, a mind bereft. What is the cure for these great wrongs? What comfort in this life for him? For all is gone, and all his songs Were sung before; his light is dim. Is he so high, is he so great That nothing else may bother him? Does earth revolve about his pate? We think the chances rather slim. There is a hope; but he must know The Lord our God who made him so. Our God who made the earth below And skies above has made him low. This pride of his has got to go, And thinking of himself also. His gift, which he so wants to show, Is from our God, not his ego. Now learn this lesson from this man, Who sits so lonely without plan: He wrote with folly and began A nothing, save he heeds this ban. - Adrian Keister. August 25, 2001 |
|
| Home Page |
|
| Back |
| Next |
 |
| Next |
|