We are eternal ghosts in a temporal timeline.
Shimmering like a mirage, there but not, we live out our days.
Like mirrors, reflecting either glory or death, our choice given.
Spirits eternally young, in wonder watching, time tolling on our bodies.
Tethered to an eternal God, in His image, time passes.
Waiting, we watch with hope for the door to open.
Older we become, more accepting, anticipating the inevitable.
No need to control the path, surrendering to its mystery.
Price paid, grace supplied, all is rest, embraced in wisdom.
Hope transcends fear, death is swallowed up in victory.
No longer strangers and pilgrims, the ghosts come home.
So, teach us to number our days, hearts applied to Wisdom.