Friday, September 17, 2004

Home

There’s a place where the grass is green
And the sky is gray with the breath of the city;
Some might say this is a beautiful place to live,
As they see our sunset and our sunrise
That color the sky all orange with laughter,
And the moon aglow with a love for the sun’s smile,
And children who have not lost their wonder,
And they hear love’s glorious song
As it covers the earth.
Yes, this world is beautiful.
But some will say that this place is nothing new,
While the nations rage and rulers gather together
And the children who wonder will ask the question “why?”
Because at times it doesn’t make any sense.
This beauty drowns in the sea of creation’s groaning.

And some, the wise, understand this well:
That this world is not our home anyway.
This is but a playing field, where we make our choices.
We choose to love and grow and wonder
Or cry aloud to empty space.
A wise man once said that the wise will come as children to Him,
And He came as a child to us.
This is a temporary space we fill in the universe,
This beautiful mess, the imperfect sphere
We call home.

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