Search For God

The weaving, sightless fingers of time Reach out to touch my relentless climb Toward peace. Coldly winding round the warmth of youth's peak Shading the sunlit road I walk as I blindly seek Silent peace. 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 Toward peace. The fingers tighten now - I stand before a gate viewing one small splinter of a cross - too late - For peace. Patricia Langston-Moran