The Rising

A touch of madness in my heart

birds they fly and they do dance.

Not bending this way nor of that

flexible and do not crack.

These times may break many men

not to be seen again.

Some will rise and meet the game

and some will fall with no blame.

The nature of this gotten life

filled with goodness and some strife

and lest we forget who we are

the choices innate to go far.

Some will watch on the sidelines and bow

and some will rise though not know-how.

And as we leave one by one

may there be flutes and hidden drums.

To sail us on a sea of grace

live life now be there no waste.

Photo Credit Vincent G. Novo