For What Are Roads And People… ?

March 10, 2017

old_man_on_roadThe journey is my destination?

And on what map does it reside?

I’ve tried to let it all go, somehow,

But I find a grip not made with hands, inside.

The fingers of my infant soul

They flex and stretch and curl and fold

I feel as if they should be taught

But I know not what…for, as I ought.

And so I drag a little while

A shiny thing a quarter mile

And drop it for what’s caught my eye?

Will these winds I’m riding ever die?

I’m blown about; I’m torn in two;

I cannot keep Heaven in view.

Too many hills they come between

These earth bound eyes and Glory seen.

I’m spinning, I can feel it


Although all I know

I cannot see

Perhaps God wants us dizzy,


I don’t know what He means

By me.


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