That Thing Called Patience

It is not that your goals and dreams are becoming even less as the days go by, 
But that they are beginning to diminish in look and color. 
The brightest colors that your eye first created, 
Is turning into a dull thunder, 

A memory, a thought, a wish turned whisper gone by. 
It is not that you have stopped to wish and pray, 
But that the words once boldly declared are turning into a whimper. 
The loud voice your mouth produced, 
Is turning into a tired wind’s sigh, 
A prayer that only moving lips dare produce in fear. 
It is not that you will not live to see your work 
But that you hope to be alive to enjoy it. Alive not beaten. 
The stage, the lights, the audience, the accolades, 
Turned quiet, muse, lesson, understanding turned reality. 
Once you have done all that your heart can bear 
All that your mind can fathom 
All that your hands can endure 
Turn then, to that thing called patience, 
Your hard work and faith’s companion. 
It is that there is a thing called patience 
A thing called steadfast endurance 
A thing called unwavering faith 
A thing called persistent determination 
A thing called no short cuts, no breaks, no lamentations 
All praise, all patience, all results. 
That thing called patience 
That blossoms the rewards of eternal gratitude 
Once those goals and dreams once dared 
Bear fruit to last all through your years.

That Thing Called Patience

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