The Endless Search, A Series of Poems
Hear What Does Not Call
This collection was not written for or about any person
Again he saith,
One woman, one hearth,
One name to end the wandering.
Yet by dawn,
The road hath found his feet.
Again, again
Yea, again.
One day he crieth,
Let me be held.
The next,
Let me be free.
Thus the heart churns
Like a wheel in rain,
Again, again
Yea, again.
Leaves the feast
Calling it poison.
Returns to it.
Calling it life.
Curses the chain,
Then polishes it.
Seeks the rose,
Then kisses the thorn
Again, again
Yea, again.
Again he saith,
One rose, one soul,
One sacred rest
Names thyself free,
Yet serves chains.
He has not yet learned how to hear what does not call
He searches
Not for things,
But for the end of searching.
In women In world In himself
He has not yet learned how to hear what does not call