Beyond Philosophy

When my pen is a shackle

And Muse flaunts her noose

I flee to earth’s foothills

Fancy-free and footloose

When hope is a hunger

And Duty is bleak

I find in God’s garden

The things that I seek

In babble of brook-song

In whisper of wind

In nature’s caresses

Both humble, yet grand

In the rush of the seasons

The hush of the night

God’s rejuvenation

Brings faith to my sight

…and the pen becomes weightless

Muse’s noose is a bluff

As thought sings God’s praises

And that is enough

© Janet Martin