Poem by Maed Rill Monte
Photo by Braden Collum on Unsplash
The world being
an auction of methods
and a competition of weights.
Unsatisfied, in seeing much.
Hearing many, knows the minimum.
Somewhere near, even within,
the Spirit leading: there, there.
Far to the back, old and rugged
and all-permeating: the Cross, the weight
to choose. To boast
of none, but it. To lose
it all, but it.
Shouldering the Cross,
a racetrack comes to sight.
Something tells I’m born to run;
set these feet on glory road.
No horizon light but an inner light;
no score of trumpets but a quiet thought.
Face set like flint, presses on.
The Way to the narrow gate found;
not a walk in the park
but a work of sacrifice—
so the serpent sheds skin on occasion
and even the forbidden tree
let go of one fruit.
About Maed Rill Monte
Maed Rill Monte is a poet hailing from Ormoc City, Philippines. He started crafting poetry at seventeen, influenced by G.K. Chesterton, Edgar Albert Guest and many others. He lives with his family, books, and an unnamed dog. For more, visit him on Facebook or contact him at email@example.com.