In A Time of Illness

Now in the silence of my spirit's cell

I watch the endless thought-streams come and go,

The vexing past holds me in its spell,

How little I have learned, how little know.

Beset by sorrow from the depths I cry,

I cannot move, the pain does not subside

And the wells of inspiration have run dry.

Beleaguered and oppressed I cannot hide

In some nirvanic otherworld of calm

Or blindly in extinction's arms find peace.

I look to no religion for the balm

That causes sin and suffering to cease,

Until the Presence in the heart is found

This life will be the soul's battleground.