Soul, Uncategorized

Driven: A Psalm of Sorts

Who sets the elephants seeking salt, the little pika plucking

and storing flowering roots before the snow

The horne’d beast to cross great rivers, My God

My human heart is limp and withered within me, My God

I have no mind to migrate, no drive to line cave with petal

No ancient tender walk to make, training calve and trunk and tail

No instinctual nostalgic path to take, my only drive to love

Bewildered are my eyes this night, my bones groan within me

My God

My hands hang helpless

My God

will set my wounds

as he also tends the stars


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