Still at last. The inner anger
having burst the bounds of reason,
I find all questions answered in
a breath. And with the changing season
my mind is cleared of every past
desire and doubt. For if at first
I thought this life would wind up best
in death, now I see the danger of
my sin, the cancer of my treason.
The senselessness I
feared was all
my own invention: a blindness to
your order. The strife: a lack of trust.
But now the fire is out, the tension
lifted. And I'm without defense.
The worst of
undergoing all
that pressure was losing track
of what I'm for. I was wrong
to think myself the measure. True,
I'm gifted. But as a means
and not the ground of knowing.
Yet though I'm spent, I've no lack
of treasure. Since I found the clue
to wonder, I belong to you.