The First Mate Of My Soul
I would like to think of myself as a sage;
but a sage, I could never be;
sometimes I struggle, to even engage;
my thoughts are what I see.
Vision is not what we see with our eyes;
all our thoughts are world’s apart;
vision isn’t at all what some may surmise;
vision is what we see with our heart.
I am the king of the life that I live;
no servants bow at my throne;
my heart, commands what I give;
without love; I am alone.
We think we are captains of our fate;
and masters of our soul;
I couldn’t quality as my own first mate;
I dwell in a servant’s role.
These words, that I craft, are not my own;
they come from a much higher source;
my poems are whispers of love, on loan;
for I’ve become love’s divorce.
Love is the truth; the Master of all fate;
the true Captain of every soul;
the love of God is not up for debate;
God alone has the Master’s role.
Unfortunately, I lack God’s ears to hear;
and, also His eyes to see;
sometimes I transcribe his love, to fear;
and, my words set nobody free.
Monty 11/26/24. # 2,469