My mind is wrapped in stillness deep, A calmness that's unbroken, For it is night and it is dark And there is not one word spoken Outside in the empty street That patiently waits the dawn, And I as I try to sleep,
I turn in bed and yawn. After to sleep drifting I wake again, And in the bed I turn
An image or though from the sleeping time Vivid in my mind does burn, Through sloth to get up to write I fail, So it is written never,
For in the morning its long forgot, To be remembered never.
II VII And in this emptiness of mind, Images and words can play,
As I in slumbers drift in and out In the early hours of day. The devil finds work for idle hands, Often by wise men it's said, But for an idle mind open to God Poetry finds it instead. And sloth it is a sin they say,
Which I never understood,
For slothful I love to be,
And as I explained sleeping idleness is good! But sloth makes us fail to work, And it makes me sleep all night, And so the words God sent through sleep to me, I never get to write.
And images from those sleeping hours, On waking are forgotten,
Though vivid they be at the time, They are for the back of the mind begotten, Of worries of our waking time And of our fears and dreams, Sometimes pleasant, sometimes nightmares, Strange to me it seems.
No, God speaks not to me, I must tell you in a rush, Im not that crazy, just a poet, Im not like George Bush! But God gives us a talent, And God he gives us time, And God gives both to me at night, When my mind can rest and rhyme.
Neath which all worries cease And I am occupied by a force, Of and for peace.
And in a heart that's peaceful, You shall find only good,
And God at these times in such hearts dwells, And its only right he should. And talent is like the biblical lamp, To show light it was made,
Why light a lamp to show the light, Then hide it neath a shade?
Shade is the passing hours
Tween when I think and rise,
And lost through the shade is the light of my words And this I realise.
In our hearts he seeks to dwell And tries to find out how,
To find a bed in our hearts to rest, But sometimes we wont allow The Lord in His goodness to come in, And will not tell Him why,
And so by the trials of the world we are broken, For our hearts to God we deny. Though still from bed I refuse to rise, And my words write for all to see, And so I waste talent God does give, And so with Sloth, God can charge me. To change from Sloth I resolve, But I know not how,
Before I die I'll find a way, But be content in sloth for now!
