Fame and Fortune

I don't know why I'm not famous,
    in view of some others who are.
I don't know why I'm not wealthy,
    when rich folks can be so bizarre.

Sure, I've done nothing worth noting
    or being reported as news.
My only claim to success is
   I've walked in my very own shoes.

Never have I been unfaithful
    to her who became my dear wife.
I've never stolen from others,
    nor cheated to better my life.

Luck of the draw makes the difference
    in who gets the wealth and the fame.
I've learned that I can be happy,
    without much of public acclaim.

I have no opulent lifestyle,
    but what I have need of I've got.
I don't know why I'm not famous,
    but truly I'm glad I am not.

Copyright ©2019, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

A Sheltered Life

Dear Lord,

I pray for shelter from the storm,
but not from the sight of its power and beauty.

Give me a safe home,
that I may help others gain the same.

Let me find comfort,
yet not be comfortable with others' pain.

Deliver me from evil,
but not from the duty to oppose it.

Shield me from my enemies,
as you teach me to make of them friends.

Shelter me beneath Your wings,
but only to teach me to fly.

Amen


Copyright ©2019, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

You Can Get There From Here

You wonder how to get there
despite your circumstances.
Yet nobody gets anywhere, except
by spiting the circumstances,
which, after all, can only
circum stand.
Circumstances are to opportunity
as walls are to a door.
Look not to walls,
but to ways.

Copyright ©2019, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Waiting Patiently

"Are we there yet?" comes the plaint
from the kids in their back seat.
"This is boring," they proclaim.
"Just be patient," we entreat.

But are we not just like them,
ever wanting time jam-packed?
Do our waiting hours condemn
us to feeling out of whack?

I've a thought or two on how
we can overcome this plight.
Wipe the furrows from your brow
and I'll tell you what I might.

But not now.
You'll have to wait for it.

Copyright ©2019, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.