A Quest
In our carnal swirl of days
For every part of our finite mortality
There is this moment we come to
Without embrace or will ...
Yet undefaulted in spontaniety
O this knowing leans tough
Against the lattitude of praise
That you and I
Like predestine subjugates
Share the common tyranny
Of death
In each living part of this finite hell
It is time someone speak
And break the silent fear of flora
Spaced out on anasthesia of light
And all together with fauna tell
Our longing to know the secret truth
Veiling the ignorance about our being
We have endured enough of time
And claim now clarity of more than faith
To stand beside our burning bush
Without our shoes
And know the way we did not choose.
Heaven must have an easier way to go
Than this,
But Enoch will never tell again
Which pole is the door located from our pain?
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2009
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