Man’s will is only free within his realm,
To chose only that within his gaze.
Foolishly his will thinks his is the helm,
And blindly stumbles on for days.
He will boldly say, in his foolish pride,
That which only sovereigns can know,
“I will tell them all when I will die,
I will decide when it’s my time to go.”
But his air will be for not.
For he cannot see nor does dream
Of the place his fathers forgot.
Beyond his sight lays, a holy theme.
The sacred, man cannot conceive,
For out of his picture it lives
Nor in it will he believe,
Until within him it lives.
by Ryan Wormald