Waking up to morning mist, I sense the otherworldliness of its obscurity.
Sight is dimmed. Senses dulled as dishwater.
Lost in fog. Muffled morphed outlines rising as shadows.
No compass points defining end from beginning.
December chill making body feel stilled as statue.
And here am I… frozen in poetic thought as the kettle boils hot…
As mist
Watching steam clouds billow reminds me
how our lives are but mist in lens of eternity
our deepest desires and dreams, hopes and schemes
in danger of being fizz, evanescence become
melting puddles of deliquescence
seeping into nothingness.
And all pleasures rise high as steam
then fall away as vapour dissipating
into darkness too dense for us to hold.
For all is fleeting, all is change, all is meeting place
where we surrender our goals and plans,
then taking up God’s gift of grace
we can sink restful, with trusting sigh,
leaving all to be rearranged by His loving hands.
He gathers every scattered act and thought
to make-over, remould good and true,
weaving them into a tapestry of His own design
where nought is wasted
only caught, drawn fine and new into
a lasting beauty to behold.
©JoyLenton
Misted wintry days remind me of how fleeting and changeable our dreams and schemes can be.
Though all desires surrendered to God become enlarged at His hands and so much more than we ever envisaged.
Happiness can vanish in an instant, ephemeral, lost in the ether.
Lasting, solid joy is found in relationship with God and following His ways for our lives.
He transforms everything by His grace. Makes us come alive on the inside.
Making beauty from brokenness, from the scattered ashes of our lives.
Poetry Joy 