If I'm too tired to spin the wheel the wheel will go unspun;
friends come near and eat their fill,
friends come near and eat their fill,
yet hungers move them on.
What Gethsemanes we all must face,
we all must face alone:
No hand to hold
No hug to have
No heart to beat in sync,
The cup we drink the Cross we bear,
No hand to hold
No hug to have
No heart to beat in sync,
The cup we drink the Cross we bear,
squeeze tears into ink:
and on the dry scrolls of our lives
trials sketch a tin-type
and we like monks pour over them,
yearning for some insight.
Alas we find the Rosetta
Is Eternal Perspective
and so our lives
Remain exposed
yet no clearer or uncertain.
To walk by faith is a lonely road,
narrow and constrained
He who tells you otherwise
Is busy selling something...
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