The Waymarks
The waymarks of our silent years
Are slowly coming to an end
Beyond all faith a precipice appears
At the destination, what then?
I met some along the traveled way
Who thought they were bringers of cyclones
Anything to smooth the sand of day
To fault the sea for all its moans
But the signs, the signs, the signs
have gathered mass, old Sisyphus
Can rest at last, the crows in the pines
For feast have left ... what is the detritus?
The waymarks of our silent years
Shall end before the throne of grace
And God shall wipe away the tears
That made the rainbow of his children's face.
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