by Jay O'Toole
We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life.
"Your writing style is pretty flawed."
"You'll never make a cent."
My gift was given me by God
to work each day well-spent.
"You talk and talk and bore each one,
who dares to read a page."
Each conversation's really fun.
One day "they'll be the rage."
"Just look at Dave, and Tink, and Sam.
They've really gone quite far."
They're "down the earth," less pride and sham.
With them, I'm now a star.
'What makes you think your words mean aught?"
"What makes you think souls care?"
Reception's not what I've been taught
if faithfulness is there.
"You write about your Jesus Christ
when other faiths are here."
He's blest me so it's worth the price.
I write to make that clear.
"You've written poems for many days."
"What's here to show for that?"
The sun doth shine unnumbered rays.
All payments would fall flat.
I write to bless the Lord Above.
He's worthy all my art.
What copper farthing measures of
the least His Glory's start?
"How do you know you'll find success,
while breath doth fill each lung?"
I don't. My praise must still confess,
"His Honor have I sung."
by Jay O’Toole
on September 27th, 2022