Early dawning of The Season,
Close knit, yet far sighted.
That jazz trio and song in the shadows,
Lobbying One Hope, and One Light.
A watchful gaze, piercing darkness,
The eye of the night, mesmerizing in fullness.
The sweep of The Spirit,
Soaking, saturating…sequestering silence.
Staring in stark realization,
A clouded conscience, childish chagrin.
The train of temperament, eluding its own path,
And unto its own.
Woeful remorse, within hapless emptiness
For if Thou hasten Thy Hand,
Will I be ready for Heaven.