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Poems about Life - Page 6 by Bill Childers

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Just When

Just when does one really determine
How much to want from this span?
Is there some set standard for each
Or, does one just get what one can?

I think my daddy always said to us,
"Work hard to get ahead... and stay!
Working hard will take a lot of time,
But, there'll be plenty of time to play."

We were to play as hard as we worked,
Then we didn't mind the work as much.
You kinda got the idea of where you fit in,
Or just where you set your sights... and such.

You began to notice some peculiar things,
Of the strange ideas some folks grew;
Of how 'a little' was a whole lot to many,
And 'a lot' was a 'real little' to a few!

Just when does one set more than just a course...
When does one set a total for the sum?
Or, is this where the idea of just working hard
Causes the best... to just come?

Bill Childers
Copyright: 2003

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The Big Pond

It was just a big hole by the side of the road
With trees and brush all around.
But, a running stream from somewhere
Never let the water level go down.

There may have been fish and crawdad
But, we paid them no mind.
They didn't bother us,
We gave them no fuss...
It was the best swimming hole we could find!

We had a rope hanging from the lowest limb,
We could swing out... then let go!
We spent many a day in that great pond...
Some didn't know much how to swim,
But, we said "ready, set... go"!
They'd all swing-out... far and beyond!

Everybody knew they were safe from harm,
The older ones kept watch-alert.
One thing about the Big Pond,
It was for swimming and fun...
And, nobody was allowed to get hurt!

Bill Childers
Copyright: 2003

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What is faith but a fantasy's end,
The finality to desperate search?
It's nothing at all,
It seems a gasping call
From a frantic life of fear... or worse!

Perhaps faith is a solace from worries,
A solitude midst charades of woe.
A promise of peace,
Of boldness and release,
A moment extending as far as time goes.

Maybe, just maybe, faith is a person,
A friend beyond any that one has known.
A voice to still pain,
A hand in blinding rain,
Balm for reaping misery one has sown.

Finally, faith just might be a place
Where one doesn't quit... to rest.
Where one finds the path
And the hope that will last
Beyond the journey of life... and breath.

Bill Childers
Copyright: 2003

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