Conquer Our Wandering Hearts

We woke to a world of darkness, maddened by the torment of mind—
An incessant emptiness fueled by the lunacy of time as held by a beggar—
In a tin cup, no more, held out with a limp deformed hand—
A crooked smile as a mirror reflecting crooked thoughts—
Spread out before the world—a lonely banquet—
Wishing the lore of virtue, as it was now deemed, had proved true—
As when all is lost and what is found has purposefully been left,
The heart may sink deep into the chest and rot a beating rot.

So comes the light of day into the city street of our life—
Burning the dew in a flash of brilliant heat and time—
Holiness might ride on the wings of the mornings—
At least reconciliation does; in a chariot name Dawn—
The breath of her steeds breathing into the death of our deeds—
We will rise, for that is the meaning of a day—
To stand, to walk on crippled feet filled with new blood,
Shaped like wonder as only wonder can.

But daylight leads to dusk and the coolness of moon shadow—
What to do with a day asks those who have seen for the first time—
First there will be quietness, and then a stir—
Then, laughter heard throughout the poverty of mankind—
A waking of the neighbors to be sure—
As the nectar of triumph fills the mind and greets the heart—
Soon the scars of the world will all hear this sound,
A trumpet—for the wandering heart was lost but now is found.