Shall times of peace be nevermore?
Accordingly amidst a toil-
My heart is hardly arable soil,
Feebly tranquil in unloving lore.
Spying under harboring stones,
I seek a foreshadowing need-
In a language I cannot read,
Increasing my heart bemoans.
Alas in grateful revelation,
A sound clearer than once before –
God beckoning through the narrow door.
Peacefully arrived to cessation.
(c) 2011 – 2019 Rick J Stassi