The Bed of Time

Chasing the dreams of life, the sheets of time have become wrinkled and mussed.
The pillows of comfort and peace upon which I rest my head are flattened and pressed.
The mattress foundation creaks and sags.

Age and weather bear evidence in my joints.
The frail limbs are but skeletons of past strength and vigor.
The mind now trips down trails of memories, blind to paths into the future.

Upon the bed of time, my body resides.
Yet Truth reverberates still within my soul.
My heart holds fast to the hope of Love.

There is nothing like the cancer of life, despair eating away at the will.
The mind games one does play–silently, stealthily, surreptitiously.
The lies snake through your being, leaving behind bites of venom and poison.

Between the leather-bound volumes of Truth is Love expressed.
Within the borders of gilded parchment paper is freedom defined.
Outside of time Life was conceived and birthed, rested in death, resurrected in Glory.

Upon the bed of time, my body can wither and waste.
Braced with Truth, I can walk through the door.
My heart holds fast to the hope of Love.


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