It's Time
This world’s full of broken dreams, hurting people — and who're adrift, it seems,
Yes, it’s a harsh world, it’s a cold world, one where tears form rivers and streams.
It’s a troubled world, it's a distressing world, one that is full of pain,
And it is crying out for love — that in place of hate — should always reign.
Yes, fear and sadness stalk this planet, and happiness is but fleeting,
And those weapons into plough shears, not a single nation is beating.
There’s an air of gloom and doom, there's a sense of loss, and bewilderment,
And there is that feeling in the bones that more bad news is imminent.
It’s obvious that we have fouled our nest, and a heavy price will pay,
And it’s also clear that society has lost the plot, lost its way.
We all know that there is wealth out there — yet, greater poverty we see,
Accompanied by much suffering that should not, nor need not, be.
Yes, we have certainly got problems, and there is carnage everywhere,
Be it via some disaster, heartbreak, war, or the greedy profiteer.
But despite it all, or our pain, there is one thing that is very clear,
Change is better late than never, and much better late than, “I don’t care.”
But even if it were too late — what time we have left — we can improve,
For that is what love would seek to do, and yes, love a mountain can move.
Haven’t we erred enough? Are we truly sorry? If so, let’s prove it,
And we’ll do that by starting with ourselves — and then, others will benefit.
Yes, there’s enough suffering, there’s enough heartbreak, and enough cruelty,
Hence why both man and creature are bleeding — this earth too, lamentably.
So clearly it’s time for healing, and for love — the kind that wins the day,
Love that right around this earth will build a caring two lane motorway.
Yes, it’s time that we turned the corner, and stopped repeating history,
It’s time that we let love conquer each nation, each race and family.
Yes, it’s time that love fell just like snowflakes, and blanketed the whole earth,
It’s time, it’s time, it’s time, it's time — that love — in the hearts of all gave birth.
By Lance Landall
The following poem contains Christian references.
The Chat
Mandy quickly popped a porcelain vase on the table, then answered the knock on the door,
Surprise turning to exclamations and hugs, delight at the bouquet her kind friend bore.
If there was one thing Mandy loved, it was flowers — “nature’s jewellery,” she oft would say,
Yes, treasures for the plucking, that both natural beauty and endearing charm convey.
Mandy fetched some water and placed the bouquet in the vase that she’d popped on the table.
“I thought I’d call whilst passing,” June relayed. Mandy sighed. “Oh, I’m so glad you were able,
And such has worked out really well, given that on Tuesdays I’m usually not in.
It has been quite a while, and you should see my garden now — it’s a real little Eden.”
“A little Eden!” June exclaimed, “You haven’t gone all religious?” “Well,” Mandy began,
“It’s all very well for you to smile, but I’m convinced that there is some kind of plan.”
June feigned a frown. “What do you mean by a plan?” Both now moved to a welcoming chair.
“Well,” Mandy began again, “As far as I’m concerned, one thing’s becoming very clear:
Beauty like that found in a garden, just couldn’t have evolved, but must have been designed,
And if that’s so, then there just has to be some sort of supernatural mastermind.”
“Are you suggesting that there might be a God?” June questioned, somewhat less humorously,
And wondering what might well be coming next, what exactly had come over Mandy.
“I really don’t know,” Mandy replied, “But there surely has to be a being of some sort,
And
why not a God? One capable of all this, just like Christianity has
taught.”
“It would take more than a garden to convince me of that,” June
replied, “Quite a lot more.”
“But don’t you see,” Mandy countered, “Could that not be our problem — we’ve lost our sense of awe?”
“You see, we’re always looking for the dramatic, some supernatural revelation,
When one could possibly argue that there is enough evidence within creation.”
“Oh, I can certainly appreciate just how beautiful gardens are,” June agreed,
“But beautiful or not, any garden is something that one constantly has to weed.”
“If there is a God, what’s with the weeds? And even evil people can look beautiful,
So I wouldn’t get too carried away, or next thing you'll be getting all biblical.”
“I can’t explain the weeds,” Mandy replied, “But that doesn't mean there’s no explanation,
And as for evil people who’re beautiful, there’s purely and simply no relation.”
“People choose to be evil, and due to lust or lack of control, in such will revel,
But isn’t it possible there’s an evil supernatural being too — a devil?”
“Well, if there is a God, I suppose that there could well be a devil too,” June admitted.
“And,” Mandy broke in, “A God who for some reason both those weeds and evil permitted.”
“Maybe something went amiss, something that we don’t really understand, but will in time,
Which might explain why in this world things oft occur for which there seems no rhythm or rhyme.
And those weeds that you mentioned, no doubt the work of that evil one, who such ill began,
Aided and abetted by erring humanity, very often referred to as man.”
“Yes, two forces, one producing good, the other, evil — battling for supremacy,
Hence the rose with its thorns, the bee with its sting — laughter, yet pain — defeat, yet victory.
Yes, I like to think and dare to believe that good will conquer evil eventually,
And that the beauty I see in my garden came about purposely, not randomly.”
“Why stop at gardens?” June chimed in, seemingly coming on board. “Indeed!” Mandy replied,
“There’re all those beautiful sunsets that we see, and there’re the delights of the countryside.
And oh, look at each new born baby, a mother’s love — and love itself, let’s not forget,
And those genuine acts of loving kindness that most of us throughout our life have met.”
“But to me, a garden’s surely evidence enough, for there isn’t just beauty there,
But design and engineering, and surely an intelligence of another sphere.
Yes, the more I spend my time there, pottering and observing, sunny or cloudy day,
The more the possibility of a Creator with a divine plan I’m forced to weigh.”
By Lance Landall
