Recipient of Grace

We look across the seasons of our years

And muse upon the things we might have done,

Our sweetest recollections end in tears

As death awaits, the last oblivion.

We open wide the windows of our grief

Yet shuttered in our memory remains

The passing of souls as falls the blood-red leaf,

Life tainted now by sorrow's purple stains.

The inertia of defeat drags us down.

Caught between the future and the past

The present is a cloud rudely blown

By fate, and all life's treasures we've amassed

Seem but a tally summing up to nought.

Unsteady our feet on an uncertain path,

We must disavow the legacy of thought,

Quell the pain, subdue the waves of wrath

That rise in us as uninvited guests,

Our rage against the universal No,

Open the silver casket in our breasts

Through which the God may freely come and go.

The yogi in his aureate brightness knows

Whither the sun, the why of moon and stars,

The magnificent trajectory of souls,

Upholds the world yet bears its wounds and scars.

Beyond the bourne of eye, the speed of light,

Beyond the million avenues of space

The destiny of man shines ever bright

In the Image cast, recipient of grace.