Beacon

A poem on mindfulness

It’s far too often I’m forgetful
there burns within a mystic light
that could dissolve the dark outright
if only I were less neglectful
less occupied with urgent projects
less mesmerized by shiny objects
that flash with self-important fizz
igniting but a frantic tizz.

It’s time I learned, ere getting older
to follow well Truth’s beacon flame
from easy streets besoiled with shame
towards the heights where hopefuls shoulder
the solid gems concealed in fate
by seeing now— on Grace we wait.