True and Meaningful Will

In hope

of skies blue,

vast and undeterred

are drying tears-

collected by unseen smiles

In threats of frigid

but burning ground below

is repentance-

A repentance found both sooner and later

One heavy with pastures of green- but none ever greener

In ancient words

from gilded pages,

bound in leather

hope and need

Are no ripe answers for the raging revolution,

only variant notions

shifting from here to there- and back again

The method of the three,

is mystery

beyond compare-

Black like the dark hours

that hide

the light of the day

Now and then-

all that can be done,

is to follow-

on bloodied foot,

over barren land

The aim of the carpenter

and his dinner guests

is and always was

direction

Purpose from an old- but new compass

in which one chooses to follow, deny

or silently go in search of other lovers-

all of a lesser degree

At the table of offering-

is space for bended knee

and an odd but abstract desire

for service

Not to self-

but to those who surround,

and swim in the very sea

in which the struggle

it is to cross

At the heart of creation

are mountains

and sandy crystalline beaches,

then city roads

All leading to country lanes,

fields, rivers, lakes

and vague dreams

Alas though,

no discernible

or translucent choice prevails-

All that's left

is the true and meaningful will-

of the weary traveler

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