There was this urge within, this primal, hidden drive,
which called soul on through dark eternal night,
to hold the hand of spirit, keep purpose to her side;
know that demons called and even angels lied.
Forgetting that this life would pay no certain wage,
that destiny beat time, the rhythm surely saved,
even though the pledge was set and fully made;
so grief would stand aside with darkened face.
To sit within the shadowed nave of wisdom’s church,
where love could suckle at the breast of ancient nurse,
and know that fate had written deep of pain and worse;
yet still strive on, determined, toward the waiting purse.
The crane bag held all secrets, treasures shining, that
would gift the life eternal; draw hope so slowly back.