Upon My Bench

Upon My Bench

Upon my bench, I sit pondering,

Life’s mysteries, miracles, and my meanderings.

Has it always been this way I questioned,

As my memories lay unstirred in its bastion.

As a child, unsure of life, I wanted to see,

Into my mind’s room, its closet, its mysteries.

Led by forces or spirits unknown to many,

I found treasure troves of blessings plenty.

A cornucopia of yesterday’s experiences and surprises,

That was unwrapped from early morning sunrises.

A childhood filled with misunderstandings,

Awaiting spoken words with truth withstanding.

With hunger pains to know, to grow, to go,

My mind sought out hidden secrets and all that life could show.

An imperfect person seeking answers to man’s insurrection,

Was not to be found in the mirror but in some opposite direction.

I still see reflections of myself at that time,

A lone sojourner speaking often and hopefully kind.

The strangers many I met along my path,

Some not respectful of their word or chat.

With those years all behind me, I seek not to please,

Those who differ in reasoning as I sit in the breeze.

Their words are now like raindrops that fall from the sky,

Living a moment before they all become dry.

I still sit upon my bench within my own mind,

Watching stories, finding secrets, but now not so blind.

For I see far down the years from which I have climbed,

Being led by an unseen hand or heavenly spirit sublime.

It’s my next trip I’m pondering, a meandering all-new,

When I stand up from my bench and step forward out of view.

In that moment whatever mercy and grace it may hold,

I’ve been promised it will be glorious such splendor to behold.

By: Dan R. Fowler

For: Astrid