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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword ~ Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873)

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CHARLES GRIGGS – Page 4

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This poem came into being when our Pastor gave a sermon about sins in the past that we all have,
that make us feel guilty when remembered. “We must rise above what has been forgiven
and not let the ‘old life’ hurt our present testimony.”

A slip of the tongue in a moment of hate and then we find that it’s too late

To take back the words that we regret. We know they heard and won’t forget!

Though time may pass we know they’ll think of the moment we went beyond the brink

Of being thought of as “Tried and true.” An old fashioned Christian, just like you.

They know we failed for they were there and that moment of truth is what they’ll share

When with their friends they congregate to pass the time and then relate

All the things they’ve seen and heard. (And they’ll skip nothing, not a word!)

But as our deed is told anew the words will flow and they’ll add a few

Till the story told will not be near the terrible time we’ve grown to fear.

Oh, IF I could go back to when I slipped and fell and maybe then

Bite off the words I spoke too quick and then the kind ones I could pick

To say instead and make amend with the one I hurt who was my friend.

But, sad to say, it can’t be done! You can’t go back when you’ve hurt someone!

Harsh words you must anticipate, before you speak! After, is too late!

Our daughter’s pastor lost their young son under tragic circumstances and their grief
was almost unbearable. I wrote them this poem to hopefully put a little bit of salve
on their wound. We can truly understand their pain, having been there too.

With broken hearts we join life’s crowd where laughter rings from everyone.

Deep in our depths we cry out loud, They do not know we’ve lost our son.

It seems unfair that life goes on as though no harm has come our way,

They cannot feel the pain we’ve drawn that fearfully has come to stay.

A part of each of us is gone, ripped from our lives for evermore.

Paining again with coming dawn til setting sun reaches our shore.

When will the agony we feel be changed to peace within our souls?

And how are we to know it’s real when life keeps heaping on its coals?

We think we’ll never quell the fire that rages deep within our heart!

The torments never seem to tire of trying to tear us apart.

But suddenly thoughts come to me! Our Heavenly Father went there too!

For as His Son hung on the tree He surely suffered as we do.

‘Oh give us strength!’ is my prayer, Lord! And give us courage to bear the pain

Let us find comfort in Your Word and win God given joy again.

Standing in line for food one day I noticed an older person ahead of me that had evidently

suffered a stroke. His left arm appeared to be paralyzed. He had on a jacket

with, "U.S. Air Force" on the back. It started my imagination

going and this poem is the result.

As I was standing in line one day,

Waiting for something to eat.

I heard the man ahead of me say,

"These prices just can’t be beat!"

I notice the jacket that he wore

Had "US Air Force" on the rear.

I wondered if he’d been in the war.

I’ll only guess and not interfere.

He seemed to look as old as me

Which kind of made me fantasize,

In the service what did he see?

Do painful memories still arise?

I wondered as he ate his meal,

What could his service story be?

What do you think he would feel

If a war movie he would see?

Do you think he thanks the Lord

For sparing his life back then?

For all the horror tales I’ve heard,

Do you think he’d go back in?

One can only speculate

On the unknown road ahead.

Do we all tend to hesitate

Seeking God before we’re dead?

Now’s the time, not on the morrow.

Ask the Lord into your heart.

He will keep you from Hell’s sorrow.

Once He comes in, He’ll not depart.

A picture got me thinking of how our civilization has degenerated in

the last fifty years. We’ve gone from "Macho" to government

dependancy. Is it too late for us to change back?

Somewhere out in Texas on a lofty mountain peak,

A cowboy sitting on his horse rises up as if to speak.

For he’s spotted in the valley a cabin quite alone.

Smoke coming from it’s chimney shows someone to be home.

He and his horse have traveled throughout the untamed west

Finding places that they’ve liked, oft returning to the best.

The two are close companions of way too many years.

Together braving many storms and facing many fears.

Perhaps the home down yonder will afford a brief respite

For these two weary travelers to spend one restful night.

But habits are so hard to break and mingling’s not for these.

They must continue on their way, for their own kind of peace.

A cowboy’s life is not for all. It takes a special breed.

Preferring to dream ‘neath the stars. Theirs is a lonely need.

No city life was meant for them, for crowds and noise they shun.

But put them on an open range and give them room to run.

They can’t be cooped up in a house like normal human beings,

But allowed to wander by themselves gives each of them their wings.

They may just be the last remaining freedom lovers now

For we all seem to lean upon the government somehow.

"Entitlements are due to us" has become our battle cry.

We don’t attempt to help ourselves and seldom do we try.

Oh, give me back the cowboy days when "Macho" meant something,

Instead of as we live today, waiting for what the mail might bring.

We’ve lost an awful lot it seems, in twenty or thirty years,

And what’s more it will not come back, that’s just how it appears,

And I don’t think there’s time enough to get us straightened out.

I think we’ve moved too far from God to get us turned about.

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