Poem: Vast Horizon

How does my beautiful mind that smacks with shards of glass and shackles not recoil at this mystery?
I’d like life to be a bowling alley, but instead it’s a vast horizon of dangerous hills and valleys, a place where those who are catlike enough to tread where few have trod
Have seen the very face of God.
But most recoil like children from bitter food when they see the promised land so good.
Or others weakened by the words of spies, have believe fewer truths and more lies.
Is my Deliverer that good or would he lead me to destruction?
And even that destruction might be good if it destroys my self-love with it.
O let my feeble feet find sweet earth
and soar through the Wind of the second birth.