The intangible obsessions of the mind
Grasp at the tenure of time’s thinning air
There is nothing in its filament we find
To soothe our anguish, longing or despair
To want is but to waste our granted lot
A trampling of life’s bloom into the dust
How bitter is the gall of selfish thought
As we consume the draught of tainted lust
To pant and chase the fathoms of the wind
Is but to clutch the fabric of a sigh
The intangible obsessions of the mind
Are boundless as the reaches of the sky
To open wide the eye within our thought
To see what grace and love and life have lent
Will stir us to desire what we’ve got
And fill the void of futile discontent
© Janet Martin
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