The Wonder of Promise
Evaporating, as the invisible cycle of morning dew,
is the hope of yesterday, gone. It’s true.
While slumber unfolds with the quieting of chaos,
Hope exists that the morn will catapult promise across
the horizon of each breath, whether tepid or profound.
The wonder of promise leaves us spellbound.
The future; such a quixotic conception.
To think one can control it is Satan’s greatest deception.
Yet we strive, we hope, we plan, we pursue,
A collection of winds seems to be all we accrue.
But the promise, the word, the gift of free will,
emboldens us to chase, to create, to fill
our days with strivings, both selfish and divine.
I’ll do my own thing, but you must do mine.
The gift of free will gives us power to choose,
yet God is sovereign, don’t purchase the ruse.
Still we hope, we dream we pray, we progress,
Intoxicated by the everlasting, ever real, wonder of promise.