| Do oft I sit in humdrum’s drawl
Just waiting for the earth to haul
Myself around the fireball,
Or do I resolve a spirit reborn
Child-like, pure and free?
Can I rise up never toil-worn,
Every moment, new beginning,
Every heartbeat, freedom ringing,
Every life-breath, purpose bringing,
I wonder…is it meant for me?
Ageless vapors coalesce
To form the dew – dawn’s caress
So the psalmist did express
To a parched and vulgar lawn
There came a holy immersion
From the womb of the dawn.
Treasure the past and all its mirth,
Hold the morrow for all its worth,
But live today your second birth -
youthful spirit conversion.
©2003 Carl Pecinovsky
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Revision History:
The original form was a longer, disjointed poem titled, "New Year's Gift". It is published solely below:
New Year's Gift
As long as the fabric of space does not unravel,
Time has no choice but to birth another year.
But we can choose whether to celebrate
Or to feed on our sorrow, stagnate in fear.
Scarce any of us have voyaged around the world
Yet as we sit in oblivious hum-drum’s drawl
Each of us begins another priceless trek
Around a massive fireball,
Without which we perish,
Without which we are lost
In an oblivion of darkness,
Just anchorless dross.
Can you think to liken Maker with the sun? --
Arms outstretched for everyone.
Every moment a new beginning,
Every heartbeat, freedom ringing,
Every life-breath, purpose bringing,
I wonder…is it meant for me?
Could I pierce that about which I revolve?
Plunging to the marrow, lodging in the furrow,
Living that about which I resolve.
Or will I slip through those waiting hands again,
Blindly blazing my own trail,
Or maybe just probing the perimeter,
Futilely grappling for the comet’s tail.
Oh, but why are some moments so blisteringly bitter!
And others so preciously perfect?
Don’t desire to numb thy feeling,
Both are cause to genuflect.
All paths physical are held by God,
And He will not force a constancy
For He most desires a willing heart,
Pure and child-like, spontaneous and free.
Ageless vapors coalesce
To form the dew: dawn’s caress
So the psalmist did express
To a parched and vulgar lawn
There came a holy immersion
From the womb of the dawn.
Treasure the past and all its mirth,
Hold to the morrow for all its worth,
But live today your second birth,
A youthful spirit reborn in truth.
©1998 Carl Pecinovsky
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