Search for God
The weaving, sightless fingers of time
Reach out to touch my relentless climb
Coldly winding round the warmth of youth's peak
Shading the sunlit road I walk as I blindly seek
The mountain is touching a star.
Time whispers to me - it is too far.
Rainbows fade as I race toward the end,
Universes wither with age as I ascend
The fingers tighten now - I stand before a gate
viewing one small splinter of a cross - too late -
Copyright © Patricia Langston-Moran | Year Posted 2009
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