like Moses

Water from rocks and manna-soaked socks
And quail in my locks, still a 40-year clock

I wait at the dock yet my ship never stocks.
39 more years I’ll hang on this block

“This one bring you luck!”
But luck is a crock

And I’m staring at walls that tick and then tock
And then a dismissive obsessive regressive tock

Walking alone while I die with a flock
Will Jesus come save me or will Buddha just mock?

A whisper is heard, “I stand here and knock”
But hope seems elusive and this door won’t unlock

“Extricate me from sedentary before my soul rots!
I want to be more than some stain or ink blot!!”

“What is that in your hand?” Hope or a rock?
If only I could just touch the hem of His frock

At the head of the line, at the feet of the altar
Where upon rests my gaze, there upon begins my falter

In the face of adversity and some purposeless scene
Where upon rests my hope, thereupon lies my peace.


Published by kenn

author. developer. illustrator. Renaissance man.

2 thoughts on “like Moses”

  1. cdrogers says:

    I think I remember this one. Either way, I’m diggin it. 🙂

  2. tiff says:

    When the Full-Grown Poet Came

    When the full-grown poet came
    out spake pleas’d Nature(the round impassive Globe
    with all its shows of day and night), saying, He is

    But out spake too the Soul of Man, proud, jealous and un-
    reconciled, nay, he is mine alone;
    –Then the full-grown Poet stood between the two, and
    took each by the hand;

    And to-day and ever so stands, as blender, uniter, tightly
    holding hands

    Which he will never release until he reconciles the two

    And wholly and joyously blends them.

    w. whitman

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