I Collect My Thoughts Poem by Gary Bryson

I collect my thoughts,
And put them to rhyme.
As the cloud casts an image,
On the passage of time.

Not a frame from a movie,
There’s nothing permanent there.
But like a shadow of a wave,
On a sea of despair.

I look for a reason
And a mark that is mine,
But short is our season,
In the passage of time.

What life has to offer,
And time has to give,
We see for ourselves,
In the life that we live.

What carries us onward,
To the end of our days;
And goes far beyond,
Not contained in our graves.

The real you, the real me,
Is not who we see,
Beyond what is physical,
Beyond reverie.

It’s a frame for our thoughts,
It’s the spark that is life,
It cannot be destroyed,
By torture or strife.

It will always exist,
But where? You may say.
In heaven or in hell,
You decide that today.

The work is not yours,
It’s the Savior’s alone.
His redemptive sacrifice,
That his works did atone.

A payment was made,
And now you are free,
If you only believe,
Why he died on that tree.

No effort, no merit,
Can you ever decree.
That paid one penny,
Towards setting you free.

It was all paid by Christ,
Divine and complete;
And only by faith,
Can your works not compete.

So is it up to you
To be elected in Him?
Not a thing you can do
Can deliver you from sin.

But the real you and real me,
That no one can see,
Can only believe,
What has been given so free.

No claim do we make,
But that Christ did it all
And his works on the Cross
Paid the price for the fall.

Life flares but a moment,
Though brief it may be,
But only in that moment,
Is your chance to be free.

To believe or reject,
That Christ took your place.
And his death was the payment,
For the whole human race.

10/18/04