Stranded

so that evasive beauty would not leave us behind
counting the game piece coins they gave to us for lousy compensation

so that each would become a separate nation, country

in the soul's inner choirs, free
we have spent everything to the last penny
remembering these:

those who as Dickinson said died either for beauty or truth
it being one sum, or lit the lamp for the others to come later
leading the knight to falter on his way, to stumble but then to see:

those who died of grief without beholding the Grail
who could not prevail where he steps now, with ease
or those who pondered the moon, having no ladders then,

only yearning, leave.
it comes down to this in a world of commerce. sin
that goes on and on tearing us from home

leaving us stranded

either you stop and listen for the song of ages
or you live abandoned and beauty flees
and what was given you fades, and then the flame goes out

not knowing its own name
still less, the lanes of God.

mary angela douglas 9 january 2019