Something Spoken

Something Spoken

Softly calms the breeze of day, a day without end. Wondering throughout this life with awe unmeasured, a path is lingering near. Beckoning with an inviting song, she sings. To go when called, to follow or stay? With will seeping one drifts; like the mist from a waterfall floating away, towards the lustrous path of heavenly beauty.

Underneath the shade at last an infinite trail is seen.

 A sign is posted among the shrubs of green, “you may enter but never return, for steps in time cannot be retraced.”

To embark upon a journey untold, or remain in the meadow? A decision of such grandeur and to be made by a mere mortal.

A whisper in the trees, as if alive speak a strange voice unknown. Jovial laughter, “come play, the sun is bright the day perfect and right!”

A battle within. Who will conquer, who will win?

A choice of unknown proportions made. Like following an ominous star without knowing where.

Feet upon the path they tread, lightly- almost carefully at first. A gaze behind reveals only the foliage of a new life. No meadow- no security, just the impending darkness ahead.

The narrow forested path of strange familiarity continues onward, never changing, a bend here- a bend there- one body yet one portion never to know another.

Unfit, ashamed and afraid, as if being trapped against a boulder inching upon you, one feels alone.

No happy play once foretold, no light from the life giving sun, sadness- emptiness.

To return to the meadow, not so- the unstoppable ride has begun.

Sharp stones digging, etching, prying, deeper into the naked softened flesh. No more a path of splendor. Toil and sweat, a life of hardship.

A body lying upon the stone nearby, so limp and pale is he. A tear of pain trickles down his face of gray, sweat protrudes under the thin hair of pale white.

The journey so difficult, alone to carry another?

Impossible!

An unspeakable light within overpowers and compassion is king. Lifting the broken and forlorn body the trail of toil is once more continued, now by two.

By carrying the man of gray one would think a task much too hard to do, but not so. The path not changing and yet the soul lifted, over the boulders and sharp stones, to heights of joy and splendor. Such love, to sacrifice; when one is lifted and burdens eased, hearts are filled and thus travels shortly come to a glorious end.

A somewhat familiar face waits underneath a crowning ceiling of hollyhock. Standing sentinel on either side is the grandfather oak, the awakening aspen, and the eternal spruce of blue.

At last…the end has come…I am home.

-The Feeble Soul

© 2013