SOLACE

One evening out upon the moor I paused to break my journeys toil and sat
upon an ancient oak felled long before the shadows fall.
Within the depths of solemn prayer I found the eye of mind turned bright.
Then witnessed breathless visions of a future dire and ominous.

Far beyond the oceans edge the raging tempest torn horizon burned with heaven's ire.
And all the souls of Christendom fell pale upon the barren ground and tore their eyes with mad delirium.

They wept with baleful cries and writhing on the sullied stones and danced to torment's sonnet sweet.
The plague of hates reflection wed the ice of savage scorn and lodged within the hearth of every cruel heart.

None there were with spotless purity to show for life's long opportunity with love.
The master reaches with a thousand hopeless hands for pity's gift to offer up one moments grace.
That touch denied and so our fate to pass the treasure cup without a taste.

The service flowing from the open hands and hearts and eyes of all can lift the dismal children of the dream.
The dream is all we are and all we have and so is fit to give that quiet lord of hosts along with tender secrets of our love.

When I awoke the light of dusk had fled and chased the otter to it's den
but oh the moon was full and tears of joy became my solace.
Oh to serve him here with every breath to bow to every face to give to every hand what may and empty all my oceans of despair.