A Barren

By Cliff Lake

 

A Barren

 

What dry thing is here?

What dreary entrance now?

Your musty being,

Has blotted all cheer,

That we may be as dour and morose

As your own observances.

What humorless existence is this?

I hear the scowl on your face,

In your every utterance,

You pronounce dust and desiccation.

You vacuum joy from laughter,

You void goodwill,

You erase smiles,

Because you cannot find your own.

How is it that misery sustains you?

What sour mien puts a spring in your step,

For you would march and stomp,

Long before you would bounce.

Discontent us no more!

The sand in your smock is not ours!

For here we seek contentment,

And ease,

And peace,

And fellowship in care,

And caring.

Your crabbed speech,

Your severity in tone and talk,

Moves us at the first,

But constant complaint

Is an abuse of charity,

And is at its worst,

A cancer,

And if needed,

Will be removed.

Cheer is not so hidden,

That it cannot be found

In the smallest moments,

In unlikely places.

Leave off that armor,

Beneath it,

Someone may find beauty,

Even if you have forgotten it.

Or continue in your dusty life,

And finally dry completely,

And alone.

We will not be.

And we will still smile…

 

Cliff Lake 6/25/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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