The Crossroads

As I stand barefoot, I feel the hot dry dirt slither between my toes and the wind whip mercilessly around my bare legs.
I do not move.
It's as if I am bolted to the spot. My arms, dead weights, dangle listlessly. My head hangs low and I can feel the sun searing the skin on my neck.
Yet still, I do not move.
Sweat pours down my stiffened back in stinging rivulets and I struggle to see for the dust in the air. My ears ring - pierced with pain as the wind picks up a ferocious howl yet still, I do not move.

I open my eyes, risking the searing sting of tiny dust particles, to peer out through the tumult: to search for the answer…


Exhausted from confusion, my autumn leaf dry eyelids close and I feel tears of prickling sorrow and defeat entwined roll down my burnt cheeks...

******

A brief sojourn from this unrelenting discomfort;
A cool drop of water to soothe my swollen tongue;
A damp towel for forehead,
Or a morsel of soft bread,
Would be welcome and desired bar none.

For my Soul is found wounded,
Standing on the parched pavement,
Clothed in a body wretched and bruised.
Longing for answers,
Longing for comfort,
It urges the body to keep on, unmoved...

******

And so I stand waiting,
With a heart of despair,
For one more day passes with little fresh air.
And while I am waiting,
Sweat dripping from me,
My Soul sits right by me, too,
Patiently.

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