Nary a thought

I had not oft questioned my earthly path

Until I found the road came to an end—

Not just an end, a cliff before me then—

No way to turn but back to what I knew

And question then did I all that I knew

The birds, the skies, my God, the very ground

Each thing that once was sure I’ve questioned since

My path was found to end with nar’ a thought

The quiet thought

As I am writing in my chair

A quiet thought arrives:

Why do I write? How do I dare

To presume to change lives?

 

Why should I for a moment think

That which I’ve said’s profound?

That all will still my poems drink

When I am in the ground?

 

This tort’rous thought traps me in webs

Of which I can’t escape

While fleeting inspiration ebbs;

In doubt I myself drape.

Sonnet 9

pexels-photo-258510.jpeg

How does one find the road he’s meant to take?
When will one know she’s chosen right and well?
Will he yet seen the signs, and his choice make?
Will she receive the answers she can’t tell?

I, too, am drowned by doubt and grayish thought:
What have I done that’s changed this world I see?
Is this what my creator, in me, sought?
Have I done anything but work for me?

I write these things upon a lonely page
Undoubtedly without a hope to be
Someone to change this growing earthly stage
About whom all would say, “Thank God for thee!”

I oft return to ponder thoughts like these
When wond’ring if I’ll yet the moment seize