Posts Tagged ‘Journey’

You were told:

though the Path may twist and bend,

stick to it to receive Happy Ever After.

Now the Woods have cleared, the tunnel opened;

you’re at the last page, but must ask,

is this truly Journey’s End?

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Moving on is a funny thing.

At times it seems impossible,

but then you come to a place

where you can look back

and laugh. And you may not

be happy, but

you’re getting there.

And another realization

hits-

that it’s time to move forward

and stop looking back.

When you enter,

you step into yourself

and confront all the things

that you’ve kept buried.

Green-brown spires 

with their limbs- gnarled like weeds-

cast shadows, block

out the sunlight-you must search for it.

The brown path is not worn,

the ground is cold, 

and singing seems pointless here,

because the wizened trees of your mind

will suck the joy out of the tune

and reduce your voice to a stammer.

 

Know

that there are more people 

than solely you in this forest.

All paths intertwine,

and people are never alone.

But be careful what you say

as you stumble through the woods;

you never know what innocent children

will hear your curses

from the thicket on the other side.

Where would I rather be?

There are people here

who do not know me.

I know only their blood, not

their histories.

They talk of people I know,

the gray lady who died, my cousins;

they peruse photographs,

sorting and arranging landscapes.

I find it all uninteresting.

I distance myself–

a pale carp apart from these squawking birds.

As intriguing as

blue glass glaciers in Canada

and enormous fallen trees in California are

I’d rather their mysteries be saved for me,

for when I am old enough to journey

and pull the curtain of fog away

for even a small glimpse

at the present,

but these people are stuck

in the past.

Into the thrill of clattering hooves,

black steel on the stony street,

red sparks flitting like fairies in the night;

into the night

vivid as the jungle with its wriggling shadows,

and amber eyes, the lights

small and white through canopy of shadow;

into the forest

with its ground of beige dust,

and pines and spruces

regaling times of fire

and rising like turrets with jewel-needles;

into a new sky

more infinite than a road

and flatter than mirror

where clouds drift above like friends

watching a companion dive into an ocean.

Cruel Dawn

curls her mischievous hair-

glowing flames of flamingo pink

and citrus orange,

into the window

to settle on eyes like buzzing insects,

irritating one’s eyes out of landscapes

of the mind,

and into the dimly lit room

as real as paint,

where one sighs

as hooves, night, jungle, forest, sky

fleetly leave one’s eyes.