The Clock

The Clock



Last night I saw a vision of a clock upon a wall.
I have not such clock either here or in the hall.

What did it mean to others or me? - As I could not regard.
Asking God the morning after, His answer was not hard.

A time for men and women, time there is, in the workings of heaven
There is a time for everything - My soul desires for the leaven.

The furnace of affliction, having refined my soul
To a treasure within - that of fine gold.

The time is "not yet" to reveal the measure of my soul
For to do without God, is to cost a terrible toll.

Therefore, I wait, for the clock to strike its cord.
My "gold" hidden within - preventing discord.

It is HIS clock of my life that HE desires.
To wait on God is to what I aspire.

Whether sooner or later is of little regard
For the "clock" is that which of time will "play its card."

I know I can do nothing of myself in life,
What little there is, causing inner strife.

But the strife I perceive within is nothing for what shall be -
That of God molding the future in me.

To what can this affair be compared?
Nothing and no time listed in history ever dared.

My life is in my own hands, soon "birth" to give me
Of God's wondrous works - presently I do not see.

Cautious approach in what I regard
As my purpose in life - to remain silent is hard.

God has granted my soul to whisper.
Keeping a lookout for a brother and/or sister.

Seeing them struggle is not an easy task,
Wishing them freedom is all of God I ask.

God will be revealed, as time will tell
God's "clock" will determine heaven or hell.

Thus, I wait, for the time is not yet
But soon will be, as God does beget.

The "clock" on the wall is, then, my focused sight.
Saving each moment towards that which is right.

Right in God that is and not of my own aspiration.
Whatever God wills and without desperation.

He it is, who has made the clock of life.
What we do with our time is our own joy or strife.

Garnered love for the moment is His grace towards me
His "clock," being the patience of my soul, allows me to see

That which I have lived was not a lie,
Yet the silent ticking reveals a patient sigh.