This life takes that which may be taken and avows that Which is without comprehension,
Embodiment unreasoned, seeking purpose, it Navigates with pain and pleasure,
Yet not with both in equal measure, rather as season dictates
Upon which emotions soar across desert and plain, Unabashed and unthought
Steeped in circumstance of all that lies ahead, all that is traversed.
By this beating heart of life, wherein lies staple curiosity
Fuel for all seasons and a bridge beyond which humble intention
May wrestle with circumspect terror and abiding love.
This is no carousel or dream beyond which
Contoured geography might serve to guide.
Through the canyon of despair and mutinous Malcontent, there flows serene ambition, a Coronation of Bliss.
A fragile, blessed cadaver, this vehicle of poignant adventure
Bears all that seeks to drain and poison and corrupt and this is a consequence
Of no consequence but a riddle unsolved, a prayer unanswered.
A ropey, tawny carriage wherein the treasures that are held to heart
May bounce and rattle with axle broke, deep in mud and stationary contemplation.
To beset the mind and purpose of many and liberate in kind.
This Life, this timepiece, this whim gin of flesh and Blood fuelled by spiritual intention
To carouse and to fornicate, to love and be loved.
To stretch the sinew of contemplative review, to plot and scheme,
Through an Atlas of interested emotion and with unexpected itinerary.
Such that those who choose to tread its mettled byeway in search of love that may be found
Not in physical satisfaction but upon wholesome reflection and
By each troubled tableau of earnest love find vaunted destination.
The Ocean crashes uproarious against a seawall of fear And by increment and through eroded friction, grinds Against the tempest of circumstance.
The bitter spit of foam flecked vengeance bites flesh with shivering despond
To render Psyche open to the bone pierced by
Salted hate and fulminating fury.
A bitter swell of unbound rage would press to service love,
To make flicker and light of the candle burning in home and heart.
Fear, remorse and regret contract by stony silence in empty lumpen stomach to love, to shake and cry.
No consolation but that which lies within the sod,
For this is both the source and the satisfaction of our quest.
This is Physical and upon this tapestry of consequence we weave our choice.
Determined and unbowed we stoop windward and without fearless of heart, we tack our dangerous journey.