Everyone wants
to be heard
but their own voices
they drown
and forget-

to themselves
strangers
they have become-
in a barren desert
they are lost
and tossed
totally desolate

with their life-story
unread and unrecorded

I've been too used
to waiting
it has defined
my life
yet it still remains
in my thinking-
it is a virtue
most worthwhile

for immediate
or quick satisfaction
is not my pick-
it only does belong
to the spoilt child

there's the sweet
looking forward
to a brighter dawn
with the promise
grace will adorn:

I'll hold on
to the waiting
even if
I've to walk
the longest mile

doors to understanding swung wide
freedoms words unfold
new depth of mystery

a poet, priest, Blacksmith
forging in the furnace
gates to eternity.

with lips sewn
confidence grows

a deeper listening
hears the contemplative

moving beyond illusion
of self and surroundings.

some would have you 'fool'
but thats ok its par for the course

and they are only fooling themselves
poor souls.