Sometimes we curse the restlessness of mind;
forgetting it's God's gift, this restlessness:
for this will never cease until it find
that which it seeks: its still and perfect rest.
Without that restlessness, the angry man,
once angered, then would never leave that state;
an artist, end no better than began;
and our delusions never would abate.
The instability of human mind
more constant than its owner, ever roams
like bee, for nectar of a finer kind:
the rest, the peace, the love of God alone.
So love the constant mind's inconstancy;
so faithful in its search for unity.
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0237-the-mind/
