Remember the wisdom, those old refrains,
Stories retold, though each one remains.
Some sink deep, others skim the shore,
Clichés of life, but they mean much more.

In fight or flight, the mind’s a blur,
No room for wisdom to reoccur.
And even if you stand tall and brave,
The body weakens, no strength to save.

No bridge to cross, no hand to steer,
No pilot’s voice in the silent fear.
But the Lord’s Mercy, His gentle grace,
Can shift the tides, can change the pace.

Threefold tales within each verse,
A woven thread through blessing and curse.
Where do the cool kids gather, I ponder?
Do they feel the pull, the silent wonder?

If they’re guided, how can they doubt?
How can they wander with no way out?
Or do they stumble in the dark,
Searching for faith, but missing the mark?

The message echoes in every heart,
Love is the compass, the place to start.
Whether in valleys or peaks so high,
It’s faith that lifts, that lets us fly.

So here’s a bottle, toast the unknown,
Let’s drink to the stories, the seeds we’ve sown.
Perhaps with wine, the words will dance,
And in their rhythm, new truths enhance.

We’ll spin the tales of the wise and lost,
Of those who pay faith’s hidden cost.
For in the end, the truth’s the same,
Spirit is fire, the eternal flame.