The Artful Way

A Poem

I’ve been flipping through my old journal recently and stumbled across a poem I had forgot that I’d written, dated to August 24th of 2020.

I perceive that it was a way of processing my frustration with having less time to write than I used to - a problem that hasn’t yet been abated. In fact, I feel this poem may even be more appropriate today, for, since the time of its writing, our family has grown by three, and my time for writing has been relegated to snatches of stolen and private moments, which all-to-frequently come few and far between. To finish a poem like this, these days, may take me several weeks. Such is the season of my life - and I wouldn’t trade it for all the time to write in the world. If I did, I think I’d soon run out of things to write about, anyway.

---

Photo by Linus Belanger on Unsplash

---

The Artful Way

My mind has been
  long away
sojourning in the world of men -
my waking days
  are hazed and thin,
sensing the loss of ink and pen.

Frustration burns
  and fingers itch -
within, my heart howls its yearn,
harrowed by which
  unknown turns -
Whither they lead, whether joy they spurn.

World! Call thy curse!
  and I shall be
wanderer made within God’s works!
Give not to me
  your halting verse -
wont I to fall upon your words?

Nay! Again, nay!
  I’d rather strike 
my neck upon a singing blade
then sign my life,
  in all its days,
to ne’er pursue the artful ways!

To never see
  the world beyond
our shimm’ring bounds of stary seas -
stayed without Dawn,
  Horizon’s steed,
shrunken, restrained, stifled spirit.

Yet God alone
  has right to lead.
My soul, behold his mighty throne!
His mind exceeds
  Whate’er I’ve known,
and so I’ll seek his face anon.

---

Word of note:

anon [uh-non]
adv;
  1. in a short time; soon.
  2. at another time
  3. (archaic) at once, immediately 

In the last word of this poem, I am using anon in its archaic sense.

---

Thanks for reading!