Dedicated
to all who feel unseen by a world in a hurry,
yet
remain cherished in the quiet presence of God.
“Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not
when
my strength faileth.” — Psalm 71:9
They
set me on the curb at dusk,
a
chipped frame, a rusted key,
Deciding
rust is all I am,
forgetting
I was once the tree.
Out
of sight and out of mind,
The
busy street rolls quickly by.
To
call me useless suits them well –
a
folded page, a breathless reply.
No
factory needs my hands today,
No
ledger counts the hours I give.
They
measure worth in what is made,
and
overlook the way I live.
Yet
loneliness is not the end,
though
silence sits beside my chair.
I
sit beneath a large clock
and
breathe the quiet, waiting air.
Let
world-bound eyes see empty space,
a
piece of trash left in the cold;
But
I am not trash to Him who knows
how
pure gold looks when it grows old.
No
longer driven, no longer rushed,
Now
I rest my spirit in His grace.
Unproductive
to the street,
but
cherished in a higher place.
Thomas
Theophilus© September 25, 2026
No comments:
Post a Comment