Even the brightest minds

Even the brightest minds know that there is a mind brighter still.
A thought so great, never to push beyond ones will.

Even the workers hands know there's a palm greater than his own.
A wonder to think, a heavenly throne.

Even the worlds best architect knows he cannot design the simplest natural feature.
There must be One most skilled, the great architect teacher.

Even the symphony's conductor knows he cannot to every note replicate.
There surely must be one like no other, one to divinely orchestrate.

Even the qualified shepherd, who's flock show his tendencies.
Knows there's a Good shepherd who for generations has protected from enemies.


Even a mother who gives a newborn life.
Knows that there is a Greater Life Giver who endured pain beyond belief to see me completely redeemed.



And so I yield to the Greater One , my Jesus for whom there is none

Other praises to give ,

More than; in Him, this life I will live.

The Wind and the bird.

I looked up noticing a bird on a wing
White with streaks of gray; delicate,  small .
It pranced up into the wind, oblivious to the flight.
Never once considering a fall.
Gliding it tapped into the glorious swish ,
One I could hear from my window pane.
A wind so forcing it could make me step forward
To close the panels and away refrain.

But not this bird.
The swoosh and gusting made it glide and ride;
Delighting in invisible blow.
Soaring, leaping, twisting in delight
Dance in the streaking sunlight glow.

And then The still small voice whispered to me in the quiet of my glare.
'You see that little bird - doesn't seem to be doing much there,
But you can learn from this nothingness how to glide through your way.
How to wake up each morning,
How to see each new day.

Fearless.
Trusting.
In complete serenity.
The Wind may seem scary to some.
But the bird says "Not to me !"


It doesn't worry about its height above the ground.
Whether it will be blown away never to be found.
It doesn't worry whether the wind is capable still,
To hold the feathers up strong, present beyond its will.
It doesn't fret about when the wind might stop blowing.
It trusts the after-math of breeze to carry it along.
It enjoys the rushing, gushing, passing streaks,
For the experience will give it a new song.'

"Yesterday the wind blew
It had proven itself in past so I knew,
I surely could trust it's gust anew
To let me ride through and through."

So now in this picture, I write and see
The Great Wind is God ,
and the little bird is me.

By Lakechia Jeanne
DoseofPoetry©