At The End Of The Rainbow
My life has become a mountain to climb;
a seemingly endless endeavor;
my goals reach well beyond the sublime;
I feel I’ve been climbing forever.
I’m searching for the end of the rainbow;
hoping to find a pot of gold;
more recently; I have gone on furlough;
during my search; I’ve grown old.
All rainbows are illusions, never ending;
physical reality is just a mystery;
most of our lives are about pretending;
about what; we thought, would be.
Tho, we know, we’re only creations;
made in our Master’s image;
from us; there arose many generations;
all, a part of God’s lineage.
We are, but, paintings; on the artist’s wall;
given life in a garden above;
his precious children; before our fall;
we are his glory, called love.
We are the heart of the Master’s soul;
the love; that resides, within;
unsatisfied; with the servant’s role;
often tempted to sin.
We discover death at the end of the rainbow;
an end to all of our sin and lies;
death was the end of reaping what we sow;
a new life becomes our surprise.
Monty 1.4.26. # 3,137