We all live in the certainty of time
wondering in dreamstates of life sublime.
A child would live Sunday mornings through You
Seeking answers in a gaze, sky streaked blue.
Might happiness just be attained like that
a conscious choice, an idioscyncrat –
Tick, a charmed ballet in life’s aftermath,
In autumn’s grace cleansed anew, without Wrath.
We are told, were, when we want, will, whether.
The storm brutal if not held together
by the seams tied within our sheltered soul
such spirituality keeps me whole.
In my ag-ed eyes, my learn-ed release
I do in the still … seek a Sunday’s peace.