The Hand

Thought detaches from the stratum where lack of courage kept it

Spoken soft promises now would draw it to the stars long enough
So no longer trapped between the light and dark of regret it humanises
Looks behind; sees the joy of life rushing headlong to catch my stride.
Yes thoughts running always running; the mind must soften its pace
Fool on the wind I cannot thus see yet the sunrise mounting swift
To meet the equilibrious mind when none may object to a radical idea