Poetry

My Fame is Yours

“All that the world provides,

all that glitters with high regard, 

every shine of the gold and gleam, 

every promise of rich reward, 

I will give you”, he says, “and more!”

”Reputation and popular vote,

acknowledgement and so much fame

and it will only cost your soul.

Such a minimal thing to give

for a standing among the greats!

In the prime of the best you are

Immortality now awaits!”

And I bow my head in prayer.

I know the truth and more.

The prime of the best in me

is the part of me that’s yours.

In the womb I was wonderfully made

not with glitter or golden façade

but with love and perfect repute

as a treasured child of God.


(c)2020 R. Dee Shihady

Poetry · Thoughts

The Era of My Life

Ticktock goes my life,

and  I worry in syncopation,

“This?”

“That?”

“Now?”

“When?”

“Here?”

“There?”

“Yes?”

“No?”

The moments turn into hours

and the clock continues on in blissful infinity.

But I question my allotment,

as if I have any control over a period, let alone an eternity.

I rush and rant;

looking forward and then looking back while I miss this moment completely.

And the clock on the wall silently nods.


 

RDS (c) April 20, 2020

Poetry

My Illness

My malady is a breakdown of spirit

when all that is in me cries out to my God

that I am nothing more than my disability,

nothing less than my recovery.

In my relapse I cry, “Please forgive me!”,

but I know my affliction is a life sentence.

My ailment is humanity.

My convalescence comes only upon my reliance

on the physician of mercy, Jesus Christ.


poetry/photo RDS (c) 10/30/19