I look each morning toward the sun
and find a new veil, freshly hung.
In vain I seek to break to the bond
to see what truth lies just beyond
this ragged fringe I comprehend,
which like a shattered prism bends
my each attempt to know what’s true,
to see it in its naked hue
and own for once the smallest part
of something real within my heart.

I listen all across the earth,
but only hear an echo’s worth
of hollow voices that compete,
some with honey dripping sweet,
others with a sound like thunder,
tearing my beliefs asunder;
come to plunder seeds I’ve sown,
convicting me what I’ve well known
that this life’s burdened fruit I bear
is all for me with none to share.

I call each night on empty sky
though faint of hope for a reply.
In shadow cast by waning moon,
in aching fear of closing gloom;
against all hope, for I a wretch,
while nailed into this tomb of flesh,
still seek to know what life could hold,
this mystery I can’t unfold,
but no fair voice does it return
save mine alone for me to spurn.

I see no writing on the wall.
I hear no soothing sounds at all.
I speak; no voice answers my call.
No force exists that can forestall
this: our legacy begotten -
to forget and be forgotten.

~ John Rea-Hedrick