I wept as I was overwhelmed
By lists and piles of things.
I longed for simpler
Winsome days of sand and plastic swings.
Now life is running on the sand.
Each step sinking low –
Like trudging through molasses.
Frustration. Agonizing. Slow.
Must. Get. There.
Must finish, arrive.
But I often wonder what
For I am compelled to strive.
Sweat pours mingled with tears of loss.
I refuse His yoke and the weight of the cross.
If I would but stop and lower my knee.
Bend and take up that splintered tree.
If I would walk with Him, strive with Him, pull with Him.
He vowed to lessen the load.
“Easy,” He called it. “Light,” He said.
Why my pride, march on instead?
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Very nice poem, Abby. Yes, we all suffer this affliction called pride, but it is indeed “easy” to overcome it. Even if we have to overcome it over, and over, and over.
your piece is full of energy.
well penned.
Reblogged this on Predatory Lies and commented:
Just re-found this. What an uncanny feeling to read of shadows I no longer see. I’m sure they’re there. They’ll arrive again when the angle of the sun sets just right. But in the meantime, what a precious, delicious feeling to be walking in brilliant light.