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Ocelot's Poetry and Songs

 Questors
 
I cannot see, the road is dark.
I search now faster, for the mark.

I hear nothing, for all is silent.
Silence grows loud, and peace grows violent.

Are there words that I can write
to bring my feelings to the light?

For in my soul, a battle rages.
I long to put this fight on pages.

Would it take hours, days, or years
to copy down my thoughts and fears?

Can my ears drown out the rattle
of emotion and reason, locked in battle?

Can my soul, in this dark mist
reason its solace, from cancerous cyst?

In this dark cavern I continue
blindly folowing its venue.

Going forth on blinded faith.
Is there a light to guide this wraith?

Is there an earthly place to calm
eternal seekers for Gilead's balm?

My eyes are open, ever glancing,
dry and blood-shot, pain enhancing.

Amid this pain, can I find One
to help complete what I begun?

Who gives meaning to my existence?
Shall I ignore this One's persistence?

For there is one light radiating
from the One emancipating.

As I follow this light keeper,
wondering if He's leading deeper,

I can start to see His face.
I can rest inside His grace.

There is a cure for sin infestered.
There is a balm for Gilead's questors.
 
Kevin Metcalf
1997

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