On the Move I
©2003 Susan Noyes Anderson, His Children, Vantage Point Press
The world is flying by, and we?
As fast as wind, as free as air.
Our destination? We don’t know.
We’re much too busy getting there!
Writing “life lessons” poems is one of the ways I connect with and learn from life. They help me move myself through the inevitable ups and downs with as much grace as possible. And what better way to find grace than in the words of a poem? Thank you for gracing me with your presence here, and don’t forget to send a request my way before using my life lessons poems. (Please include full copyright information on every copy. For internet use, a link back to the poem on this site is required.)
FINDING THE POEM YOU WANT: As you scroll through this section, read each snippet sample (usually the first four lines) to get a feel for the poem. When you find something you like, click “CONTINUE READING” to view the entire poem.
©2003 Susan Noyes Anderson, His Children, Vantage Point Press
The world is flying by, and we?
As fast as wind, as free as air.
Our destination? We don’t know.
We’re much too busy getting there!
If I accept His sacrifice divine,
Returning love for love as He has done;
If I forget myself and touch the one
Whose sorrows weigh as heavily as mine;
Will our hearts ever know the love
That does not count the loss;
That bows itself beneath our sin
And suffers on the cross;
I thought I walked this earth alone,
beneath my burdens bowed,
until I found I could not bear
their weight and cried aloud.
Sometimes, when I am quite alone and still,
The Spirit speaks and whispers words of truth:
That I am not the master of your youth
And was not called to bend you to my will.
A boat is life, a vessel in the gale
Tossed by the wind and driven through the night;
A hapless cutter, searching for the light
That used to dance and shimmer on a sail
Once bright and proud, bedraggled now, and pale.
Sometimes I’d like to be
the type
who lives my life
without a backward glance––
and I would dance
through days
unburdened, fancy-free.
The day came when my mother’s brow
was creased with age and pain.
Her step was slow; her blue-veined hand
curled ‘round a walking cane.