To Wait
I wait upon the easing,
And I hold onto the truth;
To grasp with shaking fingers,
That which gives me hope to do.
The ache of mortal frailty,
That which pales my broken skin,
Tries my patience, breaks my heart,
But I still wait for him.
I wait upon my Father.
Father waits upon his child.
An angel takes my weary hand.
“Hold on a little while.”
“Today is not the moment,
And this moment not the clime.”
Water soaks my pillow,
Waiting for a future time.
This present place is darkness,
And my outlook seems so bleak.
Where is balm of Gilead,
The ease of suffering I seek?
“Not now, my child. With
Suffering, your will to mine I bend.
I wait upon you,
Patience now,
Endure until the End.”
Copyright Ann Yoxtheimer April 2011
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The Truth
By: Ann Yoxtheimer
A lie is easy bended;
Yea, a lie is as the sand.
Impossible to carry,
Or to hold within your hand.
A lie is a kaleidoscope,
Behold the colors drift,
Fluid as the ocean, shapes
and forms that slide and shift
A lie is as a sleeping dream
A fantasy, a myth
Created by a dozing child
Mind captured by a wish
But truth’s a cragged mountain,
Ancient granite, cold and firm.
Placidly unyielding
Unresponsive to the yearn.
As the mountain is unchanging;
So the height and form remain.
The truth today is one thing;
And tomorrow is the same.
The comfort that a lie can give;
Is temporary, brief.
My solace is the truth to you,
Will look the same to me.
Copyyright Ann Yoxtheimer April 2011
