Poemander

Too often I feel throwing rocks in the abyss,

I wait for the splash, but hear only silence.

I walk through the desert, no turning for me.

Like chasing the cloud that no one can see.

Hazardous is path: quicksands of the doubt.

Yet dream I of rains and seeds that will sprout

In land infertile which knows not it's glory.

Will there be someone to narrate my story?

Is there someone who sees and who listens?

I look all around and only wind whistles.

Will there be someone who reaps what I sow?

They'll know not of times this happened before.

Those worlds that were build then perished in vain.

Would this be insane to build them again?

Six days, comes the seventh to rest and reflect.

Will there be tenant to match architect?

The likeness and image to add to the sorrow,

Like bone of the bone and even the marrow.

There is nothing left to cut or dissect,

Go dare, go fail, but don't retrospect!

The emptiness fills me, I know what will follow,

But lingers a yearning like somehow, tomorrow,

Despite all the odds, completely anew, I witness

Rebirth of a human, a man of the hue!