Life exists in moments
we’re dying in between
but living – this living –thrives
from joy to joy
Each joy carries us under its wing
safe, protected for awhile
from the harsh wind and
from circling vultures, biding their time.
They know – and we know –
we are walking carrion.
Our passions wasting –
smothered by fears and
bills and birthdays
into manageable dreams
that fade like mist,
lest we recall.
Yet refusing Death
we cling to Joy
and She reminds us Who we are
and Why we are
and What we are
behind the stench of our own decay
and how we are meant
for Eternity.
Yes, Joy – our hope
Joy – our home
Joy – our haven
Joy – beautiful Joy!
She lifts us from our graves –
our destinies –
and defies them both
with levity.
©2019 Sarah Elizabeth Moore
From the shores of Wicket Lake,
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