What to do, with the worried and wandering mind?

In the sanctum of songful chants and a choir hymn,

What to do, with this indifferent world and its contemplative kind?

And Fate, driven by its unexhaustive pledge, to cherish the Lost as our thoughts become torn life and limb.

Whereby the stains of a page scored through fear—

Whereby the ringing chapel bells fall asleep on the muse’s steepened wings,

Shall press the wordlessness prior and profess upon its waking author the means that which appeared never so near.

Life melds and tire withers as we steel our thoughts toward the nature of things;

A crossroad between figment and reason.

The faceless clock, but a god among the Earth,

Shall strip away motive’s lot, no matter the season.

We hold perspective in our hands, measuring its worth,

What to do, with a mind in its church?

What to do, with a page of scribbles and a clock that remains unreadable?

Unleash the mind from its imprisoned perch,

And find that which is unteachable.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash