by Richard Schletty
Certainty has been elusive.
Webs of hearsay inconclusive.
Now we need to stop the heaving.
Find the right path for achieving.
Has the anchor disappeared?
Have the clouds of myst’ry cleared?
Journeys will come to fruition
by the light of intuition.
Art is bread for those who have it.
Bred by will and force of habit.
What’s the use of all this rowing?
What’s the payload that we’re towing?
God is gracious and all-seeing,
bathes our senses in well-being,
takes us to a sacred place
to lift a song of praise and grace.
Prayerful, care-filled tonic waves
raising souls up from their graves.
Greatest stories, ancient lores.
washing over troubled shores.
More poems by Richard Schletty at indwellings.com