It is all times that try men’s souls,
For we are trapped, not in this world,
But under the weight of the broken gears
That drive this misguided paradise.
Our hearts beat with the rhythm of
That place our minds know not of,
A none-too-distant land beyond our reach,
The mystery beautiful, enchanting enigma
Which forms the ridge of our scattered wills.
As we make this unearthly climb,
Heart and mind quakes at the heights,
Imagining the peak to be no more,
No greater height than the depths of the grave,
A careless promise of the impossible.
In these empty moments must awake
The shadowed beauty, the dimméd truth,
The goodness secretly enthroned arising,
But the blurry eye sees not right, nor far, nor well.
Such are these days that our own hearts,
Still ensnared, seek out the first field,
The untrammeled engine of our delight,
Misty at the edges of time, but running,
Urging our hearts, Awake! Awake!
Come see what has been prepared!
Despite the misplaced cogs and loose-spinning wheels,
The mystery lies beneath the world;
With care can the dust be peeled back,
The iron spectacles lifted for a moment,
And forgetful hearts be made aware;
Through this harsh attempt the eye blinks,
The distance made so briefly clear
And the heart is driven further on and on
For one more breath, one more touch
And to rest within it all.