Psalm 127:4-5 

4 Sons born during one’s youth
are like arrows in a warrior’s hand.
5 How blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!
They will not be put to shame when they confront enemies at the city gate.

 

As pearls grow

 

Little has happened or at least what meets the eye

What is the future of a child when we all give up on him?

And get him to a point that he does the same

What appears then in his future, it really looks dim

 

Once I was a child and then became a failure

I hid it very well somehow except in the night

The visits that lay within self would form illusions

That now I sometimes write on sheets of white

 

Life goes on or does it now? Only maybe for a few

Most slip into existence or toward too much brew

I wonder at times or all this was preplanned

By folks in our environment who have us in hand

 

Maybe too few in life truly encourage one another

Maybe our form of compassion glues us to where we’ll be

If in the dump they’ll meet us there but only for a while

And then to rise out of sight beyond our reach in deed

 

Left alone we stay as this becomes a place of comfort

At peace hiding ourselves from the one we love to be

Treating as a stranger appreciation in our dreams

As we isolate and grow in pain at someone else’s feet

 

There is no growth without pain, so mine helps others grow

Some have so much of it that they fill hospitals and institutions

At times it can’t be hidden and overflows into a world of hate

As the blame-game effects the next generation’s conclusions

 

Jan Wienen