Looking, this life never gives up on the hunt. We weary and posture instead of swinging we bunt hoping upon hope to find our footing on first. Fast, scampering weasels, our minds painted easels, waiting exasperating for a listening ear and new clues. Hunt and peck the news with sharpened claws and new shoes, paying the daily dues and nightly reviews. Come morning’s silent call to hush in mad sweaty rush we plant, pant and recant yesterday’s dreams with new purple schemes praying this time is the season.

Finding a lot, begged, borrowed and bought none of it for naught. For as we are taught to overcome as we should the evil by good, with steal, flesh and wood. In spirit we plan not for causes of man but dreams provided by God though awesome or odd we prance and we prod toward and ending known not. Caught in the middle of a rhyme and a riddle, from end to the middle we back trace our steps experts and adepts left with no understanding yet somehow urges demanding. To bulwark we schlep with each cautious step testing each slip til we’re standing.

Seeking and you’ll find rings true in each mind, knock fully knowing He’ll answer. No cancer finds home in a joyous heart that follows the chart doing their part then leaving the rest unto fate, then wait for the powers beyond luck for a dime and buck to pull us from the mire that threatens to suck the life from our gills and burdened with bills we are suddenly released from the muck. Wings don’t ask for flight they demand it, nothing held back and nothing saved to be robbed by vixen or bandit. Nose to the wind forgot where we’ve sinned mouth watering for the supper at close.

No time to waste the haste is the paste that binds the sense that the clock always runs out. Twisting about with acclaim and bright shout leveraged clout and reduction of doubt we wander about to check every room, every cupboard, closet and broom for whispers and scrap memories, snips, tugs and the snaps. We struggle to recall the meaning of it all as if somehow we once knew and forgot what to do. So me, him and you scurry about in the rain, sun and night a desperate plight, to whine, win or fight. When in a moment of grand peace it we suddenly cease, the rush and the race and the lines on our face simply blend into space as we discover we’re home.