At the trail head feet go on boots,
and the mind is heavy with the world,
and up the trail trudge.
The boots carry burdens unseen,
and unknown to the people of the forest,
the hawk, deer, grass and tree.
All look at me – questioning the weight,
that holds the soul so far away.
Each answers the question unasked,
“journey on,” they say, “journey on.”
The old man of the forest lives under the canopy,
with arms out stretched and beard hanging long,
he bids me leave the millstones at his feet.
I sit with him awhile,
and listen as he whispers the stories,
that are the people of the forest.
I leave my burdens for him to guard,
and feet in boots I travel on.
I give him my story, my gift,
to him and his people.
I find myself above the canopy,
on the mountain top.
From ocean to bay,
from mountain to valley,
all the world is there to see,
and the hawk sings my soul.
To me it rejoins,
soaring from the heights to catch,
and with a breath,
my soul and I are one.
Still stuck on poetry as I’ve decided to become a world famous poet (details to follow). I wrote this poem about nine years ago and still like it. Next post I’ll get back to a non-poetry topic.
Till next week,