THE MARKET PLACE

Soft musical notes

that catch a ride on the wind

mingle with laughter

that drops and rolls back up again.

A drizzle of rain

but no one seems to care,

and secondary to nothing

are the smells that fill the air.

They all blend together:

Bakeries, flowers, fish, the sea

and that woman’s perfume,

is not offensive to me.

Sweet, fresh hyacinth

beckons me to stop.

As I am lured inside of

an old fashioned coffee shop.

Shouting and joking of merchants

make the people laugh.

Others in their booths

are anxious to sell their craft.

I warm myself with cappuccino,

and pause to reflect a bit

about all the types of people,

I see from where I sit.

Here poverty blends with wealth

and no one’s out of place.

Skid row bums, hippies left over

and so I search each face.

Each one has a purpose.

They all have a destiny.

Some have chains that bind them;

Some are gloriously free.

Some know where they are going…

Some, quite simply do not.

I know the Key to their freedom

and the price for which they’re bought.

The wind is blowing their direction.

The knock is upon the door.

Which ones will open up

a Great Salvation to explore?

One’s wealth is unimportant

As are one’s battered clothes,

His talents they are displaying

Their heart is what He knows.

His love displayed throughout creation,

Man bought at a very high cost.

This is His Market Place;

His purchase is the lost.

A seagull calls from a piling begging

My thoughts return once again

To all that is before me

To the market place of men.

I look out upon the ocean

and it occurs to me

He controlled it with a whisper,

And He still whispers to set us free.

*Copyright   ©1983