When darkness closes in upon itself And the pitch of night encompasses our day, A cloak of black obscurity denies The soul's advance within the fragile clay.
Dull and errant are our leaden steps When even the sun seems cast in shades of grey, Laboured our breath and stilled the voice within As we meet our demons past come back to play.
This we must face, the karma of old deeds Returned to haunt the traveller on the way, Till we expunge the residue of lives Of lust and littleness that hold us prey
To forces that feedon ill-advised desire While the inner Witness tends the sacred fire.
Poems Undated (1727)
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