I got to the end of the year and realised my diary was empty.  So much had happened, but I had no record of anything.  I hadn’t made time to sit and ponder.  With all that was going on, I had neglected the main thing.   Meditation.

Empty pages

Nothing to show

Time gone

Its hands sped

Past in a world of dreams

Much of its face spent there

 

What has been done, time?

Occupied by people and things

None for its Maker- No

Goes too fast

Much to do

 

Ruled by numbers

Driven hard

On speeding hands

Each tick closer

Stop!

Flying time

I’m dying

 

Time like an ever-rolling stream

Bears all its sons away

They die, forgotten like a dream

Dying at the break of day

The busy tribes of flesh and blood

With all their cares and all their fears

Are carried downward like a flood

And lost in following years

 

Ruled by numbers

Driven hard

On speeding hands

Each tick closer

Stop!

Flying time

I’m dying

 

Italics: Words by A.W.Tozer

Poem by me

Song by Tony Johnson