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Poem

Unquenching thirst in scorching sands
With doleful steps as if once banned,
From mother home, lost paradise 
While wandering wayward days and nights.

As scorpions sting and vipers’ hiss
With broken bones and loneliness, 
Filled with weeping, creeping, seeking 
More, crawling ‘long the desert floor.

While raining rockets fill the skies 
Smoke and ashes blind the eyes,
Hoping all the hellishness will end 
Praying silently to ascend.    

As dreams no longer ease the mind
And all the saints you once thought kind,
Have left you here to drift, bereft  
A solitary soul, misfit.

In search of that lost pot of gold 
The one they say is Mighty old,
And glistens with the light of love 
Ubiquitous mystery, soaring dove.

Still stumbling, tumbling, moving on
Faith shattered, battered, nearly gone,
Yet mercifully a dimly lit discerning,
Incessant, quiescent,

Great yearning.    

© Terrell Martin, 02/10/2025

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