I long to wander and to wonder
that other side of life untried
reaching down inside of me beyond nature’s side,
urgings not yet satisfied,
silences not yet heard:
what blindness has never seen.
Is it all that I’ve been told?
Will I be all there,
body, blood, heart, and soul?
Is heaven all that I desire,
the absence of eternal fire?
No rising or setting sun,
no spring blooms, no coloring of leaves,
only the blindness of snowflakes’ infinite display.
Heaven the mystery:
the mystery that threatens me
and like the ending of Beethoven’s Fifth.
He was deaf but still could hear.
We are blind and yet can see.
October 8,2007
Again, I am reminded of one of Jesus' statements in the NT...'There are none so blind as those who WILL NOT see.' I seem to be finding you on a spiritual wavelength today. Scarlett
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The untried part of life is the source of worries, things that could (?) have been..... Were our decisions wise? Is blindness necessary for survival? Intriguing first stanza.