Perfect Time At The Pike

Perfect Time At The Pike

Occasionally, things will incessantly nag at me that seemingly don’t make any sense. But whoever said Soul and Spirit were supposed to make sense? So usually, after some time, I just do it and it’s only after doing it that I have the epiphany of realization.

Such is the case with the poem I wrote a few weeks ago entitled Gleaning Soul. The idea kept nagging at me that it was really two poems in one and I needed to split them. So today, I sat down to do that and Perfect Time and At The Pike are what resulted. I hope you enjoy them!

Perfect Time

In my life, I have a part.
I have to start.

Laurels can be cushy,
But really they are pushy.
I think they guide me,
But, in truth, they chide me.

Are laurels of false making?
I think they are not for my taking.
Façade says I made them, though!
I want credit for the whole tow!

Who am I to make such demands,
When really they are of God’s hands?

My laurels are not mine.
They belong to God
Who gave me life
In His perfect time!

At The Pike

My soul—of God—will not strike.
It is humble.
It will wait ‘till it’s called to the pike.

The pike—where I run out of steam—
And God comes into clean!

Here—at the pike—is where my Soul gleans!

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