We’ve been cursed to each day pursue
That obscure promised land perhaps
With timeworn maps
Our wearied souls, these wand’ring Jews
Might realize some rest
To revive us in this exhausting quest.
Yet deep within we see and know
That great Truth resides very near
But ceaseless fears
Hold us in this frozen plateau
To rot and stagnate
Until our purposed drive abates.
This life’s a second opportunity
Prometheus breaking Zeus’ restraints
We are no saints
And sainthood’s an absurdity
In this deficient earth,
A deviousness, of fleeting worths and dearths.
And then we find we’re more intensely bound
For stealing heaven’s apple, Zeus’ fire
Yet we aspire
To rise for there are men like us
Who’ve finally found
The promised land and obtained peace profound.
August 3, 2020
Poem response to Land, Man and Weather
