Aging Cycles

Like a stone set in a wall, like a rail-car in a train. . . can’t see the beginning, can’t see the end like an ever-spinning wheel a mandela of the mind, when you know you’re getting old maybe you’ve seen this turn before maybe not. While in the yard the flowers grow; they bloom; we croon old snippets of melody, long forgotten tales of joy and trouble. . .

Is it rubble or. . . is it treasure. . . this phenomenon of Life, full of joy yet filled with strife. This has all happened before but not exactly the same way, or so they say, because times change; the world gets rearranged. We come and go, speaking of Michelangelo or Warhol or StarWars or I wanna hold your hand Again and again and again. There’s someone walking next to you and she’s been there for forty-five years. But now. . . in moments of quiet repose as the blooms in the garden transpose their glorious color given over to the bees who harvest pollen with such ease Bees buzz; blossoms turn to fuzz while we ruminate on what will be, or was. . . The pollen, my friend, is blowing in the wind; But it will blow ‘round again. So the circle will not be broken, by ’n by, Lord, by ’n by. There is a better home awaiting. . . in the sky, Lord, in the sky, by ’n by. . . but you gotta believe: theres’s a gospel thread you gotta retrieve; So keep your hopes set dead ahead in the greatest story ever told when the boldest of the bold let life be robbed from Him so he could raise it up again. Now through ages of trials and time Life is recovered, in your old mind behind the circle in the spiral, within the ever-spinning wheel where half-forgotten names and faces take their pit-stops from the race of this life and strife and Life itself plays its ace: Everlasting Life! But do you believe that ole tale?

I’ve got some real estate for you for sale! The cost is already paid at Calvary where the Victory wreath was laid. King of Soul