A trio of poems

Midlife Archeology: Digging for Dreams

Unearthed:
Empty pots of common unmarked clay,
Cracked here, broken off there,
Any one-time contents long gone, dried away;
So, pitch the pots,
Hear the tinkle of smashing,
The tinkle of smithereens,
Grab broom and dust pan,
And make both past and future clean.

Did these once hold dreams?
Any dreams once contained evaporated
In the heat of day in and out life.

Or, is there residue in a protected corner?
No, there are no corners in a pot's roundness,
And the handle's cracks
Rivered away any that play
Thesis carried
Drained in the sands of
Inevitable time.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all surpassing power is from God and not from us"

[The above poem was inspired by reading LOST IN THE MIDDLE by Paul David Tripp, and 2 Corinthians 4 by the apostle Paul]

A Prayer at Midlife

God, may whatever dreams
Are in my heart or mind,
Be formed and conformed
To your heart and mind,
Be fashioned to fit
As you would have it,
Have them, all in all;
And may I stand back
And watch you do
And do with you,
And give you the glory
And praise and honor
Whatever your chosen dreams
For me, the good deeds
You have with my name on them
May I embrace with all my heart
Fulfill what you would start,
Father God, whatever,
For your glory
Is my will,
And I shall be still
Waiting on you
And then to do.

If [from the late afternoon of life]

If I had any dreams,
Reality, or reality as I perceived it,
Reality corked them
In unmarked undated opaque containers,
And shelved them
Out of reach and out of sight,
Closed a door and stood
Guard (implacable, unmovable, anonymous, well-meaning)
And each door
And each guard
Looks like
Each other door
And each other guard

I will challenge none, open none,
Reality is strong, to find a living dream too hard,
So I will leave each door barred
And seek instead a window
With a ladder to access the view

If