Wail naught for blisters found and labors wrought,

wail naught for them found on mind,

temptations net to capture favour’s trappings,

wail for those found on thine soul…

when a heart bears the sores that harden,

the stone outcroppings that hinder one

to sally forth and on, o’er the beyond be held

firm away from thine longing spirit…

scent of plenty unfelt, unbeknown.


Tell felicity her desired return shall soon

be bothered no more, found and born in 

flashes of said merriment returned…

no dalliance is found in living, 

where life is found in love and currents strong

to carry all whom turn aside the auguries

of doubt, the darkness of prophecies foretold.


The gates of joy welcome every fallen sparrow,

the day shines bright, the pith of happiness be

thine own, savor long the fardels man shall bear,

fear nothing… weary though this life become

and worry sweep thee from thou feet… turn 

naught away from conscience, pale though it

be, face head-on the traveller thou call

thineself to be, the strength within thee

calls out for thou to continue on…

to make straight past dread of death,

concerns of despis’d love or to measures

taken and found unworthy.


Lift thine head to heaven… see the good we

do sets no timely scorns upon thy head…

knowest thou it be undiscover’d country

we seek… pause grants thee thine respect.