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Out my front door; I know the way,
but to what end, I cannot say.
Encumbered by my earthly things,
no seraphim, on stainless wings
I skyward launch into the cloud.
Once Icarus, a boy too proud,
brought low to once again embark
and hurtle headlong in the dark
towards unfamiliar continent,
there, rest assured and be content.
Though I knew not, it was ordained
just to what end His purpose gained
by adding to the manifest
a guy who never would have guessed
the vector of his present course
or scarce believed its gracious source.

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for A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
sponsored by Brian Strand
written on 04/05/2022

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