James Mclain Poet Lyric

Self Control

It is the Mind’s own Meadow —
Where Tempest loves to play —
A Creature — calm — till Reason blinks —
Then — tosses Wrath — away —

The Will — a frail Commander —
Upon a surging Sea —
Who charts the Waves — with trembling hands —
Yet begs — for Clemency —

Desire — the subtle Siren —
That hums beneath the skin —
And whispers — “Yield — just once, dear Heart —
No harm — in little Sin” —

To Master — such Rebellion —
Requires a sweeter Chain —
The Soul — must bind its Longing —
And smile — through mortal Pain —

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