Teardrop

-

    Teardrop


Born of mankind's melancholy moments
a tiny teardrop, 
trembling, 
trails His face
to drip and ripple,
resounding,
reaching others;
resides in pools of purest, peaceful place.


Captured, caught upon a wild wind, 
whistling  
into a whirling stream
of teardrop trickles, trudging onward,
forced to flow,
to forever flee; 
finds freedom a fleeting dream.

Waits, watching those dashed upon damp moss stones.
Some sadly sit
  'til sun shall dry,
as others flirt too freely with false shorelines, 
soon to sand, 
sadly sink in soil, 
they fade, then die.

Yet onward, on rushes, unrelenting teardrop,
trickling, 
twisting, 
turning towards the massive mainstream sea
of mingling,
          man-managing;
avoiding shadowed shorelines and 
shimmering, 
sun sparkled 
wave caps, unleashed and free.

Until the Master spies the unstirred spring, 
stoops
and scoops
into His hand. He holds His heartfelt tear.
So quick 
to quench 
the quiet thirst of a tired, tried traveler.

He and His tear find oneness here.


~P.S. Colley

2-19-1984

Author's Photograph


 

Comments

  1. PS ColleyApril 12, 2025 at 4:01 PM

    This poem was written for Reed M. Hiatt, who died a valiant servant to his Heavenly Father.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mother Earth

-
Image
      Mother Earth    Mother Earth May bare feet rest cool in pooled puddles of spring born of raindrop's congregation that with elation sings of creatures on wing and every quiet crawling thing that walks in awe of a breath-taking beauty that she brings. For she is everything and anything dripping goodness of earth, born of each dire desire for a more joyous mirth, worn weary by torn journeys of life's defiant birth that brings forth tomorrow's promise of a hallowed, holier worth.  For none can neither replace, nor can one deny, her rising breath rush across a clouded moonlit sky, her wishful waves that swish resistant sands aside to rip into a thrashing, soulful crashing tide, left lonely as foam, slowly sinking damp to dry. Never will one forget each stillest memory of her touch brushing influence over humanity, with a song singing strong her perfected sanity through a past, a present, a future, longing for eternity. ~P.S. Colley~
Read more

A Friend in a Pen

-
Image
A friend in a pen A friend in a pen is all I seek To care with flair, as poets speak. I have no lust for sin's romance Nor for the thrill of unwilled chance. Just a friend in a pen to read and feel So moved to prove that love is real. I have no wish for pictured page Nor face to face a face that's aged. Just a friend in a pen to share the me That hides within where no one sees. I have no care for idle chat Nor for the sport of tiff and spat. Just a friend in a pen to write and say That thoughts aren't games for fools to play. I have no time for tired advice Nor cliches chore, a bore device: Just a friend in a pen too deep for prose Or small talk's pointless, turned up nose. I have no need to note my name, A true friend would require no claim. Just a friend in a pen who adores my style And despite time, recalls my smile. I do not know if in life's heart Dwells someone who will fill this part, Yet, a friend in a pen I seek to reach While no one cares save me and thee....
Read more

Flicker

-
Image
                                Flickering maniacally in its                                     maddening stillest silence, Night drags its sack of drowsy dreams  into morning's wakeup regret. Yet, barely alive, ventures out,  (despite the dread of deepest doubt), and subtly attempts a starving  moment's lack of any  soulful, hearing peer.      Ingratiates itself to be                           beholden to a more tender,  more merciful ear.   For regret is born of darkness                    softly snowing down  into mounds               ...
Read more