Tag Archives: path

Cold End

The coming dawn, I know it to be cold.
From a distance: voices, faces, in mist,
Are illusions lurking, or so I’m told.
In their discourse, they wildly insist
That if they fervently wish to be real,
It is so. Without permission they lease,
Manafest strange feelings for me to feel,
These things that cause my worries to increase.
A cold path waits for me after waking.
The morning sun abhors my taking warmth,
And I find no heat from it worth taking.
They, in the mist, wish for me to go forth.
Nothing before me but my bitter end:
A garden of sorrow, which I must tend.

The Path She Strides

The path she takes tends to lean
Towards one side more than the other it seems.
Down the dim-lit path she strides,
They are few but loyal in whom she confides.
Where does she go? Can you see? Does it matter?
They that cross her, she calls each black cat hers.
She knows dawn will come of its own accord,
And how she gets there is as important as her choice of room and board.

Without

Let me show you where the path ends,
Where bodys break and bones bend.
Where minds unfurl
And tragedies swirl,
Where this path comes to an end.
At the end a monstrous beast
Its bite to be feared the least.
Without legs with which to chase
Without eyes, or jaws, or teeth,
Lies in wait for an awful feast.
Without a face it cannot see,
Without a face it might be me.
With broken body and bent up bones,
Not a soul in sight but my own,
There’s none left to blame.
I, without a beast, or so I think,
Remain here on the brink.
An edge, a place I’ll stay and wait
For the bones to heal and the beast make
A quick escape, my fear to take.
Into a fearless sea I sink.
The beast will come.
The beast in me.
The beast without eyes I cannot see.
The path has ended I search for one,
Not made for me but made for some.
And without eyes who’s to say,
We didn’t drive the beast away.
Yesterday’s gone, tomorrow never comes.
At least that is what the faceless say.

Pebbles

This pebble.
This descendant of boulders,
This son of mountains.
This once strong and mighty thing
I see here in my path.
I kick it.
It matters not.

In a Different Life

In a different life
This pain she feels isn’t hers alone.
On this path there’s more than one shadow,
In a different life.
And in that different life, of which she often dreams.
There are hands to help her,
There are arms to hold her,
There is good and joyful news that’s told her.
There is a day without strife.
In that different life.
She stands and stirs from her daydream
Not seeing the faces in between.
The faces of those who wait.
Those who would help, that she does not contemplate.
Then she falls and cries out, to the void she thinks.
And crys again when she opens her eyes,
Surrounded by the faces and the hands of those who try,
And they who love and assist,
Thinking she was alone and not missed,
She never realized that her different life was this.

Audio

To Those Who Wait

To those who wait,
And those held under:
An unfair debate,
Hopes torn asunder.
Wait, at the end, a light.
But first, a path through dark.
Though there may be countless nights,
From the path I won’t depart.
Once there, such wonderous beauty
Introduces me to fate.
Glad that this has reminded me;
Good things come to those to wait.

A Lesson in the Storm

image

In came the wind today.
It took her heart so far away,
She didn’t fight, she let it fly.
So many reasons, she could’ve cried.
As before the wind, grass would yield,
She was the same and saw no appeal,
To impersonate an oak, and meet the same end
As the grass, but with a more violent bend.
Then having fallen and no one heard,
She says lamenting:
“Joy is made sorrow and the lonely burn.
All is made nothing. Our lives so short.
Where is the Watchman, sitting high in His fort?”
In her silence, on the wind, an answer she hears.
“This is why your heart disappeared:
You had no patience for the storm,
You knew not its true form.
All is made nothing, and sorrow to joy,
But again there is something! There is more I employ.
Stand rise again! You will conquer I ensure,
The storm is nothing, you have the strength to endure.
The only oaks that fall to the wind, all have rotten roots
Grasses may not fall, but they accomplish nothing expect for becoming soot.”
She arose and stood again, knowing fully where to stand.
Then on the narrow path, for her first few steps,
She held the Masters hand.