The gift of... Time... is freely given to Wanton Ways and Matters of Choice. It deeply folds Upon Us... its own coy sense, its own sly cir-compense of equaled measure... Then laughingly unlayers us to Winds and Weathers unforetold and some as yet forgotten. Still, but then, and yet... It exists not..... save only now... And, so does Now also betray us. Ever fleeting, ever quickening in its twinkling moment, daring us to reach into that which has not become.... shaping it with that which has already been, creating life, before it happens. This being, that the Gift might bear... not its desire, but ours.... not its character, but ours..... not its will, but ours. That we might honor, not the content, but He who who has freely given the gift unto us. Thus gifted also, we bear the wooden mark, of that purchase paid upon our behalf... at so much greater expense, than we so unhappily, merrily mirror. It is not a selfish thing to hope for Love, to desire Appreciation... but it is an atrocity, that we do... that we must. William C. Scott, II
Posted on: Mon, 02 Sep 2013 08:36:26 +0000
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