The Quest


What is this calling, that has returned?
Long banished, it again raises urgent flags
That say:

“Get to it!
Let not this field lay fallow more,
For this is not your place of resting
Nor where you shall find that which there is
At the end of the quest.”

Though I live a million and one times,
I still seek it, and the lack of it
invests my being with longing.

As with all but the very rarest souls,
I shroud the way with distractions.
And even have hidden well from myself
What it is I seek.

As have you.

But still, I wait, and am loath to continue with purpose
The path so long and idly wandered.
It calls, but I stay moored, until something first be found;
Until some lanyard, yet tied to the quay
Be loosed and let fall free.

And there are a thousand things
With which I may remove my mind from its desire.
A thousand bright and brightly sounding things,
All of them raised willingly in esteem
And easily whelming this deepest calling.

Though I know not the thing which must be sought,
I know at least that there is one other;
Another who also desperately remains unembarked,
Who also knows there is someone
With whom the quest is to be shared
And without whom
There is no quest.

Los Angeles, June 7, 2013

 

sailing-ship-in-the-distance

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Black Square


I’ve been to too many memorials lately.

And now I wonder, when it is my turn, what will people say?

Will they say nice things because they must,
Or nice things because they must?

Los Angeles, June 9, 2013