It Is Written* Poem by Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)

It is written seek - and you shall find
knock, and door shall be opened to you.
Words of divine authored power!
Yet nowhere is it written these things.
Be yours at slightest fickle request.
That seeker shall receive them immediately.

Though given in love still true merit
must be earned to be fully known.
Desire to know is program bred within.
Sought as creation birthright
without conscious perception.
Envisioned fragile quest embryo, carried
prudently, in formula formative childhood.
Tempered if it is to be flame kindled
through, smelting adulthood’s catalytic stages.


Various potential doorways
are found in many hallowed hallways.
Knocked upon as we gain thresholds.
So slowly, developmental understanding
is distilled, until purpose is born.
Fog and mist which hid high peaks
is blown away, before
warm breaths of illumination.
Summit must stand supreme above all.

Many paths appear
possible through lowland bog.
Though each step is committed
with steady measured consideration,
least stumbling step fatally breach
hungry waiting mire.


Caution demands
a sure foot at cost of time
safe foothold
is forsaken at intruder’s peril.
Selected careful handhold
must be preserved
to prevent
pain of sudden fall.
As weary tread firmly
carries us above outdistanced plains.

A determined effort
superlatively endures to enigmatic end.
Never tarries
on precarious precipitate.
Nor lingers idly
when night or storm encroach.
Only after a long well planned journey
can climber attain to supreme apex.
A fine wine savoured as rich reward.
Exalted and drunk with the fullness of time.


Copyright © Terence George Craddock