Sacred Voices

Clocks with blindspots

The days have passed, even years
   in our search for answers.
We search within our inner being
   to find who we really are.
Life is fragile, and yet
   we like to threaten it
   to the edge.
Our blindspots seem to grow,
   leaving room for error.
Each one of us is in
   our own reality,
we seek new avenues,
new hopes, new dreams.
Missed opportunities
   are apparent,
   even to the most oblivious.
We need to find our true purpose,
   not what we think fits
   the moment.
(the clocks are still ticking.)

Oh Mountains

Oh, mountains,
   grant us your wisdom of
   wind and hail,
   of many a tree and plenty
     of rock.

We want to preserve what
   we've already started to lose,
Oh, mountains,
   we feel your pain.

As more and more of
   your precious land
   is wasted, Oh mountains,
   we cry at its going.

Oh, mountains,
   we greet you with
   our aching bodies
   eager to seek
   a vista of God's great gift.

Oh, mountains,
   we will miss you
   when we leave
   but will remember
   the quest, the quest
   of being left to your own.

Oh, mountains,
   time has past,
   we must go on,
we sincerely appreciate you,
   but may never realize
   your complete value.

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