freedom

He left us on a warm, autumn day, just walked away from life like a man on a long journey home. What is my life? What is any man’s life? Flesh and blood, disappearing vapor; here today, gone tomorrow. – W. F. Rhoads

there is a toxicity in the air,

a shallow kind of pall,

a quiet mushrooming hush,

as the clouds wait in witness;

I’ve started losing track of the days,

words no longer have meaning,

people and places become a blur;

my life fades like the night;

through it all You remain;

the myths are stripped away,

the moments silently await,

little boys stare at fastballs

floating lazily down the

middle of the plate,

the promise looms on the

distant horizon,

like some giant football scoreboard,

70 yards of open field lie

just ahead;

You were there in the beginning,

You are there in the end;

through it all You remain;

the edge does not hold the fear

it once did,

the darkness but a whisper,

the distance lessens as You

become one step closer;

just one beat;

just one breath;

freedom;

.

.