I cannot look for comfort within,

To ease the ache and pain:

For the vacancy that lies therein,

Is the void of fruitless sin.


I gasp with breathless sigh,

Where' ere I sit, or where I lie:

Tears flow not, though I cry,

My soul's life to death shall die.


In the warmth of bed there is ease,

But there is no place or peace,

Where the soul is not ravaged

By action left undone and unaccomplished deed.


Time is its own master and passes by.

It does not pause or stop, even for I;

It carries no baggage, it has no tie,

It holds fast its course without goodbye.


The Universe, orderly, follows its path,

Beyond the Sun, the Moon, The earth;

Light and darkness, its share must have,

Balancing the seasons of growth and birth.


The body seeks a spiritual flame,

To open the eyes closed in blame;

A blessing given, freely by name,

Of Jesus Christ, the Son who does reign.


Jan 13th. 1996 © Will George

Will George Poet