Lines

A straight line flows with no end.

Its beginning cannot be seen.

It has no twist or break or bend.

Its marking is fine and clean.

To trust in it is not a stake

As that straight line goes for eternity.

We know what motion it will make

Not boring, but blissful certainty.

Now watch that crazy crooked line.

It’s up, down, all over the place.

Why does she fall, then up and climb,

Just to again fall on her face?

She tries to mock that straight line.

“What fun is there being steady?”

Yet, despite her haughty design,

Her tears show her true malady.

The crooked line pulls herself up,

Even with the straight line’s sure flow.

Gazing down and upon close-up

She knows she wants this way to go.

Content a moment, but soon lost,

The crooked line fell a slight bit.

She traveled next to, but hadn’t crossed,

The straight line she wanted to hit.

But next to it, she could not see

That straight and steady line go on.

“It has gone and abandoned me.

It has changed and treated me wrong.

Well fine then, I’ll find my own way.”

And down she plunged again thinking

She’ll be happy, no line to obey,

Not knowing that she was sinking.

Blinding twists and sharp painful turns,

She’s steering but where is she going?

It’s direction for which she yearns,

She hates utterly not knowing.

That crooked, broken, twisted line

Finally looked up and she saw

The straight line did never decline

It was not it but she who flawed.

In that straight line, is all she desires,

Not above or below but in.

The best is what it requires:

Nothing… except to let go of sin.