Not with the first flush of beauty, Nor the rush of dark pain;
Not with the hollow of emptiness, Nor the seasoning of shame.
Not till the healer is released, To work upon the maimed.
Will my life bear meaning, will the chaos be tamed.
Not with the taunts of truth’s burdens, Nor fallow reasoning of blame;
Not with the blighting of the spirit, Nor the mind’s trivial games;
Not the failing of the sprit, Nor the body’s end game;
Not till the keeper of my conscience gets her chance at the wheel
Will love, joy and peace finally prevail.
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