Point of View

There is a thing called point of view

That colors what we see

Though it is right in front of you

Is it reality?

 

From mine it seemed a mass of junk

All huddled in big piles

A busted vase, a moldy trunk

The trash went on for miles

 

Of packrat lives and useless stuff

Calling to be burned

Old textbooks and some inane fluff

Of lives upside turned

 

From his it’s now a time of war

That just has to be fought

Unlike any that came before

Like nothing ever taught

 

The fishing pole, the catcher’s mitt

Now rights-of-passage tombs

There’s no more time to rest, to sit

Not while the enemy looms

 

To her the walls came crashing down

Her fortress crumbling flakes

Broken dolls and a wedding gown

Her treasures lay in waste

 

Oh watery grave of mud and silt

Dead blossoms you create

Everything that we have built

This storm has changed our fate

 

From them it’s just a numbers game

File drawer compassion

Pinpoint probes, assigning blame

Well-documented inaction

 

Authority is theirs to give

Setting the bottom line

Safety nets leaking like a sieve

But “everything will be fine”

 

On High the view is broader still

As heavenly turmoil brews

The dark one just can’t get his fill

But in the end he’ll lose

 

The white dove makes the final move

In this celestial scope

He promises we cannot lose

As long as we have hope

 

Rebuild your towns up on the rock

Don’t build them on the sands

On mortal men place not your stock

But in the Master’s hands

 

His point of view is crystal clear

Not murky with debris

Of pain nor death, have no fear

He’ll calm the rising sea

 

Yes build your town with holy bricks

Set them one by one

Build it around the crucifix

In the glowing light of the Son

 

I will be back; I hope it’s soon

With a different point of view

Then I’ll sing a familiar tune

With him, her, them and You

 

 

Photo by John Middelkoop on Unsplash