the pleasant land

“The people refused to enter The Pleasant Land, for they wouldn’t
believe His promise to care for them.”― Psalm 106:24 NLT
 
the silent night sings strange songs,
whose tonics bring no healing to my soul;
for melodies my heart longs,
to classify the pieces of my whole
into their sovereign places.
 
discordant chords rage bitter
upon the palate of my reverie,
no resolutions fitter
for tears that rivulet my eyes.  i see
life's unrepentant faces
 
that, like the sun, delude me,
though on the edge of eloquence i stand.
for man and beast exclude me,
though i can smell, from here, the pleasant land,
from but a hundred paces,
 
where harpers with their harping,
and fluters with their fluting, mend the strains
that in my head are warping;
till all the chaos that the darkness brings
withers and leaves no traces.
 
save me a cooling fountain,
where i can lay my head and rest awhile;
then, bid the nearest mountain
cleft me an enclave for my domicile,
where day songs find no stasis.
 
© Copyright 2024 March 06
by Clyve A. Bowen♫