by Cyril Davies


How many weary feet have treked this forest track

In search of soulís release? Their eyes downcast,

Not for the surety of foot, but burdened by the cares of life

Which turn their inmost souls to doubt

The value of their own self-worth

Within a world that looks to values that are transient.


A storm sweeps by, the rain brings forth a life anew

To forest glen, bush, flower, sapling and the mighty tree.

All seem to straighten, stretch heavenward.

Can such a simple act of God give vigour new

To natureís own when man, the ultimate, born to rule

All that God provides, cries out, defeated,

Not by some created beast but by the inmost soul of self.

Defeated from within.


I search not for an exit from lifeís woes. But entrance new

I seek, to life abundant, where souls are free

To soar the mountain tops, now shrouded in the mists of gloom,

To cross the creeks and mountain streams,

To scale the insurmountable.

The rugged crags that weather all, shall so expose

The purity within, and rid this self of dross and drudgery.

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