My Troubles Begin In Haste
By Mark Edgemon


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My Troubles Begin In Haste
By Mark Edgemon

I move through life in a hurry,
To reach each place of development,
To speedily accomplish each task,
Never looking back or standing still,
To hear His Still Small Voice in my mind.

Becoming ever waning with each step forward.
I hear only the sound of the air whisking by
And the blur of images passing my gaze.
To what purpose is my joyless labors,
Except to cheapen the blessings laid out before me.

To minimize the gifts I have been given
Or most importantly, to show an unappreciative heart.
Aye, I must say the latter, without a thankful spirit,
We become mongrels, ravaging our sustenance
And with little more value until the end comes.

The worth of myself is the worth I place on things!

The End

Go on to next poem by Mark Edgemon: Nothing is Fair At the Fair
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