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Upon a time, sanctity of life eclipsed the road on
Which pale horses trod. Now there are spirits,
From dueling civilizations, warring for dominion of the truth.
They come on punitive paths, like Sisyphus bearing eternal
Strife with joy. Beneath this bedlam, the absence of
Spiritual direction seems informed. Is it not strange,
In this age of optimum living, that we have lost
The gift of fables?
Within wellsprings of happiness there exist ligatures
Of myths depicting songs and doors from which to choose
A life. Just as rivers are gateways to the sea, so too are
Songs and fables for common man. As singers, we gather
To our breasts soulful refrains like testimonials and they
Give frequency to those portions of life rendered
Invisible, yet, felt in hearts. And what of the
Firmament, will it become tangible over time?
It is through the confluence of perceptions that we
Discern the depths of our world. We reap
The beauty sown, receive it on the tongue.
copyright Darrell B. Grayson 2006
reproduced on this blog by permission of the author
Buy Darrell's chapbook Against Time at Mercy Seat Press
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