>When this body has run its course
and mortal life takes it final bow
and the futile strivings against the ever flowing tide
recede into nothing,
what blessings can be said to remain?
Under the sky I find the prison door open
for the vagabond’s travels
but I have these flowers,
and this scrap of sunlight in the dust,
and in the frequent dark
I find embraces to remind my heart
to carry on; for with this imperfect love
I still know the infinite
distilled in time,
translated in sin,
held in hope,
and promising blessings.
And it is there and there and
there, in the terror and the joy,
that I hear the voice.
Fear not.
-October 2007
pilgrimakimbo 
>Deeply resonating. I really enjoy your poetry. Thanks for sharing.
>Marianne, thanks for your comments. I’m glad you like the poem. Come by anytime.
>t – 123 thank you for sharing your poetic soul