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Splendor Of The Old


Reach out for the signs of life.  Reject death.  In no uncertain terms.  Don't need your blood, don't need your bones.  Where something is going on.  A light in the dreary world.  Living free and easy.  Assured future.  Which is no future at all, but constant and always.  Past, present, and future all at the same time.  Impossible to comprehend.  Days of songs.  Nights of rest.  And the reverse of that.  Days of rest.  Nights of songs.  This fear of something that might be.  Or what someone might think.  Or what will happen.  The glory of the young is their strength.  Gray hair is the splendor of the old.  20, 29 of Solomon's wisdom.  Ain't that the truth.  Strength of body and will.  The dead houses are dark.  Blues and grumbling all the time.  Envy and discontent.  Entitled to a life of style.  Blame God if you must.  Wouldn't be the first time.  He is used to it.  All the prayers, all the pleading, all the Hail Mary's even.  He invites even more.  Until we turn.  Knowing we will turn away in the end.  It is not rational.  Our God is not rational, or even practical it seems.  All we have to do is live and die.  The saving is covered.  Not many get to choose how to die, but our lives are up to us.  In many ways.

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