Water’s Journey

I love listening to water flowing.

Not a singular sound, but millions of individual drops of water flowing over and around rocks, brushing gently against the banks of the river and touching the land,  then to continue on their course downstream. Never stopping long enough to forget its purpose is to reach the sea.

I want to live my life with that kind of purpose. To know my direction so well that I can flow over and around life’s rocks and still stay the course. I want to linger in pools that are deep and beautiful but never stop moving towards the open ocean where I know there will be no boundaries and I can kiss the shore again and again without fear of the sand.

I want the strength to wear a mountain down into a gentle valley and still have the purpose to know I cannot linger there. I want the faith to allow the sun to consume me completely – knowing that I will once again fall to the earth as a single drop of rain – to continue my journey.

SGM

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Sometimes I Ask Myself

 
 
 
 
 
 
Sometimes I ask myself why
Why do I wait in silence for something that may never come?
Image result for free images of flowersWhy do I believe in something that may not be true?
Why do I yearn for something when that longing leads to pain?
Why do I trust in something when it hasn’t earned trust?
 
Then I remember that waiting helps your learn patience.
That believing in something sometimes takes faith.
That yearning for something makes obtaining it that much sweeter.
And I remember that demanding proof of what can’t be proven, kills your soul.
 
S.G.M.

 

 
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Never the Whole

 
 

There are parts of me that have known love

Pieces that were held with a selfish sort of need by someone who
saw some value in them.  But never the whole.
My willingness to provide, a favorite piece, has known much love.
My desire to see a smile, and to give comfort, often cared for. 
Even my desire for desire itself, has been favored for a time. 
But never once has the whole of me known love.
How sad it is, to look at the pieces left over, and realize that
they are what is left.  The unloved bits.
                 S.G.M.
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