For Grace, I Want…(My Elusive Quest) Poem by Charles Flesfader

It's an elusive thing, that man calls 'Grace.'
So difficult to define, yet sufficient to say,
We meet it sometimes, with it's unique place
In hearts and souls of a different way:
Christ, Ghandi, Mandella, not to displace
Those we have humbly known, today.
How hearts can swell in it's tender embrace!

I have journeyed long and far, it's true
Along life's road, in never- ending quest
Of that special 'something' some call virtue;
Not really knowing, unsure, more or less
That which I sought, so oft it eluded my view,
Except when I chanced to transgress,
And there I met them, those precious few,

Those who touched my life with a gentler hue,
Despite my mouth and angry, ready fist:
A wounded heart’s venemous spew;
Mean-spirited, bitter and vengeous grist
Ready to strike out, at the least impromptue.
Me, the enemy of Grace, that I almost missed
It’s subtle, most powerful, engenderous imbue.

Tis Grace that separates noble from beast;
Little to do with status, riches or noble birth,
Instead, an upbringing, of gentler yeast
Serious, yet undergirded with humble mirth;
Training, character: a childhood's richest feast.
Could, that I excuse self for a violent berth
In childhood, youth, amid environ quite least

But Grace I came to know, and seek the more;
Tasted just a little, more precious than pearl.
For, I saw by Grace my life would be better for.
Forgetting now, pride’s unsatiable quest
Always another transitory wave to crest;
Rather, in humble meditation and search, unfurl
A lifetime of wounds: angst and hurt, to very core.

Yet still, it is Grace that eludes me most;
Who will rescue me from this body of death?
Where is the acclaimed heavenly host,
That promises to unchain my very breath?
Does man have to become a ghost
That he might be released from earthly teth?

Tis Grace I seek, even be remembered by,
It cannot be bought, it cannot be stolen,
If it could, I would surely be want to buy.
Alas, It comes only, in clouds golden,
Through parents, humble, tender and shy,
Or lifelong quest, ardent desire and much pain;
Forged in that crucible of life's troubled wane.

And still Grace remains a most elusive beast
The hardest fought andslowest-won quest,
Of any test man has been want to compete:
For, what my soul cries out for, loudest,
Is what my flesh wishes to do, most least.
And, what my Soul cries passionately against,
My flesh does the most; such foul, corrupted yeast! .

O, that I might miraculously mend;
Some days, easier to die, than journey on,
To mortality’s, shrouded, mysterious end,
In search of whatever I might happen upon.
Why? Might it be that I succeed to spend
Just a little more of the little I have won;
That Grace might increase, as I but tend.

Better this than drown in seas of sorrow,
In desparation, depression and frown.
Blessed hope for a better tomorrow,
Family, friends a man’s real and worthy crown;
To share that which has been his to 'borrow, '
From precious souls who rescued him from drown,
In life’s deep waters, such bitter-sweet, to swallow.

This, that I might live, perchance, even pass around
Just a little of this Grace, in world's oft dark abound.
Grace: a free gift, dearly won, most hallowed ground!