Growing Old With Me

Is it a sadness then that was meant to be,
or a sadness felt for only this temporary moment
that is too focused on despair?

Will this pass into history
or become a greater part of the story
that is seemingly becoming?

If but for a thought of possibility,
of rest and relief,
of blessing and love,
of fullness and purpose,
the answers might make themselves apparent.

For by tendency or trials
this world is drawing itself tired
and growing old with me.

Mystery of When

The fog hangs in the cool night air like a faint reminder
of all that could have been
Had he found himself in time.

The glow of the moon echoes atop the hills
in hope that somehow, someday He will be.

The dampness clings to lungs that want to scream,
but only manage a sigh for the helplessness that weighs on his heart
and steals his breath.

Tonight is but another mystery of when.