By J.D. Moss
Every time the wind blows,
the dandelions fall to the ground.
What was strong was always weak.
Yet, still has strength.
The mountains that are strong,
will someday be bountiful’s farm land.
Beauty,
is now obscene,
yet, is still loved.
What God has never made,
will someday be His greatest success.
What He loves,
will make us hate.
For it is us.
The knowledge that we lack,
tells us that all things will be revealed,
never lost,
called our soul,
yet, never ours.
So no matter our fate,
our hearts control our own destiny.
No control,
yet, all control,
is ours to use.
Every time the wind blows,
our loves are thrown to the violent sea,
but our seed,
will grow new roots,
where we plant feet.
From “Fast Train Moving Past The Alamo.”
Copyright 1987 by J.D. Moss