Trails Through Time
time slowly erodes my rocky pathways
of life—hobbling me in narrow meanders
and endless excruciating switchbacks
traveling on smoother passages is rare
and softness seldom eases my fatigued feet
shrill stones engrave this abrasive asylum
needful rests weave within briars and thorns
deep and dark crests—conceal in woods
as storm clouds holler, surge, and swallow
my abrupt steps—slash abraded corridors
that fade into echoing tombs of thick vapor
tangling me in their rusted chains of despair
satellites dangle from their blackened space
shooting sharpened photos of footed scars
upon torturous twists—like strained sinew
yet hey fail to portray my hypoxic realities
cairns of stones piling upon my heavy chest
I struggle to breathe—to find any reprieve
my crushing heart hollers in taciturn throbs
beyond all my obstinate headway—new trails
drift into patience—beginning to wrap around
obstacles rather than slicing through them
but removing pitiless snarls costs precious time
and can draw out my voyage—wrung over
dry shifting winds of my solemn shaky soul—
but I liberally await a prophetic convergence
and forlorn—I can no longer tread within the
alpine stretches of such pitiless dusted relics
that lie swept beneath smudges of rubber soles
where wild explorers—leave me in their dust
on my path—a soft, familiar hand—a kind touch
of a gracious love, and an ever-constant friend
gently sways my tracks onto gentler slopes—
flowing paths drift smooth—under gentle skies
and as a pair—we chart our journeys across
unhurt rivers of divine and sparkling sanctuaries
in warm rays of sun—spilling from heaven
She guides me in troubled and anxious waters
through the carvings I once feared to trod
as our seasons begin to turn into their rest
parched blankets of falling autumn leaves
leave their familiar odor of moldering mists
quilted patchworks of yellow, ochre, and red
paint over my once eroded tracks of time
my worn bones dissolve into a colorful age
where green growths of earth patiently await
their pause to another long winter hibernation
and blessed in my constant companionship—
our hidden routes begin to navigate naturally
the time joyfully passes over our generations
tangled tawny trails lead to our hidden castle
of a peace beyond all imagination or words
and guided by Her—my love from another
springtime—a time before all earthly seasons
we climb up—upon a mountain that never ends
