The Impossible

To a baby, walking and not wetting its pants is impossible,
But with many a fall and accident it manages the unattainable.
It is a god in its achievement.
To talk, to fly heavier than air planes,
To walk on the Moon, were all impossible.
We challenge the impossible every day.
Over and over we fall back into defeat.
Many lie there broken.
Yet with the next moment
Along come youngsters
With no more sense than grasshoppers,
And because they don’t know
What the difference is between right and left,
Do the impossible.
Out of the infinite potential,
The great unknown,
They draw something new.
With hope, with folly,
With a wisdom they gain
From who knows where,
They demand MORE.
And it’s a common everyday sort of miracle.
Mothers do it constantly for their children –
Transcending themselves.
Lovers go through hell and heaven for each other,
And flower beyond who they were.
You and I grow old on it as our daily bread,
Yet fail to see how holy it is.
And if we turn away from it,
It is because it offers no certainties,
Gives no authority,
Claims no reward.
It is the spiritual life of people on the street.
And our dreams remember, even if we fail.
For this is the body and blood of the human spirit.

Copyright ©2003 Tony Crisp