Comments: Those who have lived through a near death experience can fully understand this poem. For me, that time was shortly after my 54th birthday.

Toll of Time

Bent with age,
No longer able to sit tall –
Church music raised in praise
......surrounds her.

The son in his sixties sadly.
The vibrant woman who raised him – only a shadow of who she was.

Comments: I was at a Christmas Eve service and observed what the poem describes. Sadly, not only has the physical toll been taken but also her acuteness of the mind has been stolen.


The gentle touch, the passionate kiss,
The lingering scent upon the skin
Cause the heat to rise
And the inward warmth to flow.
Enraptured within those moments
Primordial drives
Transport one beyond
Mere sensual sensations.

Yet, another form of passion,
When nurtured,
Lasts more than mere minutes–
A lifetime awaits.
Mere mortals become inspired to leap
Further than believed possible.
To become more
Than childhood dreams envisioned.
To conquer.
To overcome.
To embrace all life offers.

For when life passion
Is engraved upon the soul
The thirst
Can never be quenched.

Comments: Those who have lived the passion described in stanza one understand the unique wonderment that can carry one to great heights. But the passion described in the last two stanzas likewise transports one to lasting heights. Though the pleasure may not be as immediate, it provides a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. Granted, passion can also frustrate, challenge, and even anger when not kept in perspective. Yet, given the choice of a passionless life of tranquility or a life filled with passion including its negatives, for me their is only choice. (Please be sure to read the vignette below that speaks further on this topic.)....


So much of life is waiting–
To grow up
Watching the endless passing of railcars
The change from red to green.
What are the test results?
They must be running late.
Can’t this line hurry?

Endless waiting
Until the infinitesimal moment
When waiting ceases forever . . .

Comments: Waiting, there are times I hate it, and other times it provides a short respite. When I started this poem, the ending was headed in a different direction. Suddenly, I realized that eventually waiting ceases, at least as far as we know. With that thought, the poem took on a shorter ending. Frankly, for now I am willing to put up with some waiting.

John has a passion for his music – "I can't resist the urge
to pluck the strings when I spot my dulcimer in
the corner." – his passion for the dulcimer and
building them didn't hit until his 60's.
The Schnormeiers are passionate about leaving
these gardens as part of their legacy
Outdoor worship in the Gardens
Eternal 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 home