70 Times 7
Unto what shall I liken
my struggle filled walk in life?
Unto a breath without air,
gasping and grasping
for that which I can clearly see,
and ever try to be,
but like unto the shining stars
of heaven’s glory above -
lies as it would seem
high above my reach.
Yet my hands are stretched heavenward.
Unto what shall I compare
the hope which I have for change?
To the light of sun above the storm
breaking through betimes
with the brilliance of gleam,
and a glimpse of the dream,
but even as the delicate flower
of the desert plain -
it withers and returns to the ground
hidden once again from view.
Yet my faith awaits the rains of spring.
And what likeness
portrays my will to go on?
The waves of the wind driven sea
ever striving to come ashore
yet each time falling back,
for gravity they lack,
but like the shimmering beauty
of the freshly fallen snow -
though it turns to grey and melts away,
yet is destined to come again.
So also am I resolved
to return in the season,
and never surrender...
until seventy times seven.
