Like a disregarded breeze on a hot summer’s day,
I am woken by forgotten dreams I thought passed away...
We peer up at the road signs as we pass, callow eyes wide with naivety and expectation. The world is prodigious and stiff, so these signs of splinter-wood are an entailment, to stave off the pain of the adrift, to prevent children from being found inside wells and at the bottom of sawtooth cliffs.
Shared aspirations, our embroidered mouths dare not speak of reprehensible acts, distorted in the mind, all but forgotten by the heart. The sixth sense of right and wrong is muffled by a blanket of lies, for surely as the innocent child stares at the sun (“It will not harm me!”), we cannot stand to think that the crossroads lead to fallacy. The stars dare not scorch us here.
The ground is soft beneath our feet, both tenuous and acrimonious. Where can we seek refuge? For the earth is as reliable as sinking sand, intent on luring us beneath the soil to burrow for eternity, among the nurturing shadows and faux-smiles. Where is our rock? Where can we seek faithful, firm ground?
We sing the song of wanderers, the rejects, the distressed exhausted write-off broken dreamers. We are an army of individuals searching separately for the same truth. We could grip hands tightly and quest united, but who can we trust? Among these devoted tranquil warm failures, there thrives the demons of our pasts, patient at the dusty intersections we will all eventually approach. They are waiting for exposed backs, eager to plunge the dagger deep, whispering lie-truths we have learned to surmise, soft and sweet into dying ears. They enjoy the reaction more than the crimson.
There is a wild blizzard raging enclosed within, thoughts perforating our skulls, whipping into a flurry out of control. Our hearts are pumping ice through our veins, all while the sun grafts more flaws onto our skin. Can we ever meet the expectations? Because the elevation of assumption is getting to be too much for us to bear each passing twilight.
Challenge the sadistic monsters of memories past. Crusade against the blizzards within our hearts. Query for the unknown path, forage in the foliage for the green path, barely worn. When we reach the crossroads, the intersections of grace, we will search for the hidden way, which in turn will be our guide to light.
Fight the urge to collapse before your demons. Cry out to the stars above, and He will heed you, emerging from seraphic skies to zealously gather you, yet another of His lost flock, into arms that have held the Universe. After a long-awaited embrace, the Father’s hand will then rest upon the small of your back, guiding you down the roads less traveled.
As viridescent leaves rustle beneath bloodied heels, He will murmur tender promises He intends to keep, leading us one by one to the pearly gates called Home.
And when the hues of Heaven illuminate our unworthy faces, we will wonder why we never wandered from the worldly highways earlier...
“Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths,
ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
and you will find rest for your souls.”
~Jeremiah 6:16
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