"Alive"

Today I am alive,

There is beauty just in this,

My lungs fill with each breath,

And I may drink of bliss.

For the sun is shinning,

The air is cool and sweet,

And I may roam about this earth,

With working, bounding feet.

I may rest in quiet,

Or sing upon the air,

For God's earth is beautiful,

And each of us it's heir.

"Yearning"

My soul aches with poetry,

With words I cannot say,

How beauty leaves a

pressures on my senses,

That will not go away.

"Ballerina"

I look upon a ballerina,

Made up of music and wind,

I marvel in matchless awe,

At each turn and bend.

And as I watch her grace,

The lilts and turns of her frame,

I know somewhere deep within me,

That my soul moves just the same.

"Contentment"

In every hope there is sorrow,

Such is the way of life.

There is no happiness untouched,

By some searing knife.

You must not look for bliss unmixed,

For you will thirst in vain.

You'll vex all comfort from your soul,

With discontent your only gain.

Instead rest in mercy,

Whether in darkness or in joy,

And in God'd great and gentle love,

Consistent in this world's alloy.

"Seasons"

Spring, that time of life when youth is utterly mad,

Dashing about in desperation to be glad,

Never ceasing its hectic frenzy of merriment,

Little caring how much of precious life is spent.

Summer comes when the wild flush of Spring is gone,

Not quite so blind is it, yet youthful dreams cling on,

Still it hopes, with a tremor and a wistful sigh,

Longing that yet happiness will not pass it by,

Autumn comes, later still, when vibrancy begins to wain,

When it seems that youth and beauty might have been in vain,

Yet a gentleness begins to settle, with the fog and with the mist,

And a value for all of life, even with dreams unkissed.

And of Winter, I could not tell you, for I've not been there yet,

Some think it is a time where woes and sorrows are met.

And while I may prove wrong, I suspect rest more deep.

With life bubbling beneath a quiet surface, growing yet in sleep.