Pre-Severence

Minds ripe as a fall harvest invest within,

without malice, empty chalices await fulfillment.

A synergy-breeze brings sense of community,

rustling crisp leaves, robes, and tickling ear lobes,

like lovers' whispers entice, it lured with promise.

Cracked, mossy pillars spill down a ruined hillside;

broken, rotten bones. Above, thunderclouds gather,

crack twice, a warning, a test of resolve.

Feet scamper for shelter as robed figures dissolve,

fleeing the storm, the rain.

Those who sought shelter from pain.

One man remained. A shadow,

among shadows he trudged uphill in darkness.

Bound ankles, wrists, made his every move a risk,

and curious eyes watched from safety,

expecting him to be whisked away by growing winds.

Filthy. Ragged. Bloodied.

They watched his image blink when lightning flashed,

looked on as he was battered, smashed by elements,

barely able to climb fences among thunder-crash;

barriers barred answers and enlightenment.

Fear welled in watching orbs absorbing,

this man travelling the route,

they must inevitably take.

Some moved to help but arms restrained,

"for their own sake," they said.

This man made his choice to stand alone,

to expose his prone body to a maelstrom.

Some whispered he was damned,

and worse, so did that solitary man,

himself believe so.

Yet, despite thought, restraint, and pain,

a desire to grow was all that remained,

inside that shell trudging ever-upward,

through hell.

He knew he would never reach,

the top of that damned hill,

but still climbed, always watched.

For, he knew what the watchers didn't,

that his life was about the journey,

not the beginning or the end...

and all around him the storm continued,

to rage.

-Wanderinjase 9/29/15