What Meaning Sought…?

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    Life-lines on palms, star-signs in skies,

    random tea-leaf patterns in empty cup:

    false prophecies, readily-believed lies;

    such perfumed poison we so readily sup.

     

    We long to peer behind life’s curtain,

    we are readily ruled by myth and magic,

    moon-myopic our sight, quite uncertain;

    some decisions stupid, others certainly tragic.

     

    Telescoped far horizons eagerly-scanned,

    pertinent prophetic guidance we refuse;

    will our final destination be as planned,

    will we listen to wisdom-whispered clues?

     

    Who, or what, guides our fallible future;

    we seek meaning, hungry for true hope;

    when blades bite veins, who will suture?

    when uncertainty comes, how will we cope?

     

    I will turn to my maker, star-field Lord,

    this long-lost lamb by Shepherd-blessed,

    I’m protected by strong, sharp sword:

    love-nailed limbs, once pinion pressed.

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    “Let your astrologers come forward, those stargazers who make predictions month by month, let them save you from what is coming upon you. Surely they are like stubble; the fire will burn them up. They cannot even save themselves from the flame… Each of them goes on in his error; there is not one that can save you.”

    Isaiah 47:13-15 NIV.

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