A wand'ring wail ...

My thoughts are like a wand'ring wail,
that takes a ride on frosty gales.
Yet heeds the mind of one who knows
how wild-winds blow - a king-tide flows.

I contemplate, I'd rather be,
where ghost-ships prowl the stormy sea.
And yet my soul's chaotic - roams
where pilgrims trudge through musty domes.

I try to reach beyond dust's thought,
to understand why I'm blood-bought.
This mind was meant to dwell on grace,
not finding fault with frailty's pace.

I'd rather dwell in restful peace,
than travel roads where vultures feast.
Our souls were meant for wisdom's call,
to enter courts where angels sprawl,
and not to wander orphan's grove,
where giants nest and rag-dreams rove.

I'd rather help my loved ones grow,
where time means nought and wise-men sow.
Yet futile dreams rack earth-bound man,
who try to reason cosmos' span.

One may as well chase endless schemes,
where death in silent darkness beams.
I'll serve my Lord where servants kneel
where hope's secure in truth's bright seal.

R.Owen 25/09/2021