April 5 - Why Do We Dream of Magic

Why Do We Dream of Magic?

As long as Earth has been,
   Since the Garden even,
When we believed that awful lie,
   That we could be like gods,
We've wondered what our world
   Would be if we had wands to wave
Or secret words to say
   To make things happen magically.

But such power does not belong 
   To us. Such miracles are forged
In the arena of the angels and of He
   Who knit the universe together. 
Whose inward breath expands the fabric
   Of the cosmos and whose every exhale 
Ignites a myriad of stars and spins
   The living worlds into the void. 

So we invent our little stories of the faerie races
   Created with the talents we have been given;
And we make up tales of noble magic folk,
   That in this world could sadly not endure.
For such power corrupts we're told, but no,
    We can imagine magic wielded to the good,
But in the end dark men would come who strive
    For the corruptible crown that sorcery wears.

The universe has rules built into its very bones,
    It makes no allowance for a circumvention
Of the laws that make the the seas to fill with life
    Clothes the mountains and greens the valleys.
So, who are we to wish for magic when
    What we want is mystery, permanence and joy?
But should we take a quiet look around we'd see,
    In Him, the enduring awe and wonder that we seek.

© 2020 by Tom King

April 20 – Wonder

I still remember that sense of wonder

I had as a kid growing older.

I remember the feeling of joy that came

With each surprise that we stumbled over.

We came equipped with it, like socks.

That keep our feet warm, wonder keeps,

Our hearts warm and ready to burst,

With the joy that both laughs and weeps.

For those of us that nurtured wonder,

Taking it out ever once in a while,

For the occasional outing in the wide world,

Wonder grows stronger each mile

That we travel till the road turns gray.

In our journey down life’s tracks and lanes.

We may grow slow and weary over time

But wonder still with us remains.

© 2017 by Tom King

Breath Taking

When at night, I look up into the cluttered sky,
When I look deep into the glittering byways,
That wind among the bright and scattered stars,
I hear God whispering my name.

by Tom King
2015