Upon the Path

July 20, 2011

I write these lines that do not come from me,

The source half-known but why and how and when

Is not revealed; in calm moments of the soul

When the rough world is hid from view,

Shuttered out its darkness and deceit,

I sit alone and look upon the face

Revered through timeless centuries of love.

Kunitz says the poems as blessings come

Perhaps in answer to our inmost prayers,

And yet with me in moments of gratitude,

And in times past , moments of grief and pain

Descend. I write and strive not with the mind

To change the thoughts that lie beyond its scope.

No visionary I and prosody

Of little interest to the waking self.

The poems like song are vehicles of grace

From heights of love and realms as yet unseen.

Whether they are valuable to men

Or in these modern times deemed valueless,

When the moment dawns I sit and write,

Aware and thankful as my life to One

Who comes a blessing to reveal the way

Upon the path of consciousness and light.