I've been very occupied and pre-occupied lately, hence the lack of posts. Just tons to do, and as I'm approaching halfway through this pregnancy already, it feels like I haven't much time to do it.
One little thing I'm continuing, now that I'm past most of my technical difficulties, is a slow collecting of any little bits and pieces of my brother Clint's life that linger and are within practical reach. It was a pretty short life, but it was lived in the digital and computer generation, so there's not just a little. I'm thankful for every bit.
I haven't posted this here yet, but I came across it today again and thought I would. It's an untitled poem Clint wrote, and posted on Facebook December 11, 2008. It was read at his funeral.
Cradle not your crystal ego,
still the cog and snatch the wheel,
beds of dirt are all that we know,
save that 'neath death's reign we kneel.
Tremble in the winds of bombast,
tossing futures to and fro,
weaving, ripping cloth of autumn,
all seasons towards winter flow.
Waver not as onward you go,
drifting on the waves of time,
songs of love are all that we know,
feel their rhythm, taste their rhyme.
Close a grip upon the wind now,
never hesitate, oh no,
to latch onto any chance to,
let your perseverance show.
Wonder not how time and chaos,
all their symphonies compose,
you would never cease to wonder,
till you fell to death's repose.
Cry out loud with voice of thunder!
Serenade the stars on high!
Let not any aspiration,
yet without fulfillment die.
Lift your soul in jubilation,
live--for every raindrop holds,
in its tiny, perfect globule,
all the beauty of a rose.
Silence floats upon the surface,
as a fog or mist it blows,
swirling evermore around us,
here and now are all we know.
Hope in all her rueful grandeur,
looks down on the earth and knows,
that there are still many waiting,
many people, high and low.
On the peaks and in the gutters,
people sigh but dare to hope,
that the flowing, fleeting moments,
bring them ever closer home.
Faith and love are all that we know,
through our works our faith we show,
if the will of God we do here,
home to Heaven, we may go.
One little thing I'm continuing, now that I'm past most of my technical difficulties, is a slow collecting of any little bits and pieces of my brother Clint's life that linger and are within practical reach. It was a pretty short life, but it was lived in the digital and computer generation, so there's not just a little. I'm thankful for every bit.
I haven't posted this here yet, but I came across it today again and thought I would. It's an untitled poem Clint wrote, and posted on Facebook December 11, 2008. It was read at his funeral.
Cradle not your crystal ego,
still the cog and snatch the wheel,
beds of dirt are all that we know,
save that 'neath death's reign we kneel.
Tremble in the winds of bombast,
tossing futures to and fro,
weaving, ripping cloth of autumn,
all seasons towards winter flow.
Waver not as onward you go,
drifting on the waves of time,
songs of love are all that we know,
feel their rhythm, taste their rhyme.
Close a grip upon the wind now,
never hesitate, oh no,
to latch onto any chance to,
let your perseverance show.
Wonder not how time and chaos,
all their symphonies compose,
you would never cease to wonder,
till you fell to death's repose.
Cry out loud with voice of thunder!
Serenade the stars on high!
Let not any aspiration,
yet without fulfillment die.
Lift your soul in jubilation,
live--for every raindrop holds,
in its tiny, perfect globule,
all the beauty of a rose.
Silence floats upon the surface,
as a fog or mist it blows,
swirling evermore around us,
here and now are all we know.
Hope in all her rueful grandeur,
looks down on the earth and knows,
that there are still many waiting,
many people, high and low.
On the peaks and in the gutters,
people sigh but dare to hope,
that the flowing, fleeting moments,
bring them ever closer home.
Faith and love are all that we know,
through our works our faith we show,
if the will of God we do here,
home to Heaven, we may go.
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