A TALK WITH MYSELF

July 8, 2004

Sometimes I wonder, as life rolls along,
How much I’m action and how much a song;
It’s so easy to write down all my desires,
But much more difficult to fuel up the fires
That keep the pot boiling ‘til my duty is done
Instead of turning to something called fun.

It’s easy to picture all that I’ll do,
All the left-overs and some things new;
But finding that time to drive the first nail
Seems it’s the stump that fractures my tale.
For example this poem instead of those chores
That holds me inside instead of out doors.

Maybe a list, on a good time line,
Would be a tool to make me inclined
To move a bit faster, to step up the pace
And avoid the disaster of losing my face,
But too many tasks put on that list
Becomes a prime reason that several are missed.

Perhaps I need to know who I am;
That might keep me out of a jam;
To know my strengths and my expertise
Would probably give me a whole new lease
On a life that God understands already,
And wants to help to be stable and steady.

It’s selfish to try to achieve too much;
It only leaves our life in a clutch
That leaves tasks undone
And destroys the fun
Of passing the test
By giving our best.