Keeper Of The Flame

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 The Winding Way


Stepping stones...where do they lead this time?
Ancient chiseled stairway, yesterday's ghosts,
Heavenly hosts offer to help me in my climb.
The steps are slippery, lest in my pride I boast.....
 


Perhaps I shall find everything I have lost.
Perhaps the scars on my knees where I stumbled
On previous attempts in winter's hoary frost
Will heal somehow and I shall be humbled....



Stepping stones of grayish chalcedony carved,
It is so much easier to follow them down,
For wont of high ideals the soul is often starved
For all I have lost but none of it ever found....



Do phrases expend themselves in lucid thought,
Or do they each one reach out but not adhere?
Do they ever fall into the pattern I have sought?
Can they be interpreted without being too clear...



My mind will not allow too much clarity unsealed.
Fruits of my labor lie unpeeled, uncut, untasted.
Too much within me refuses to the fates to yield,
And so much lies fallow, shallow, and wasted.....



Stones hewn by unknown hands in distant days,
Leading upward, if I can keep climbing them.
Do you hear the hymn from Heaven as it plays?
...I must find at least one jewel for my empty diadem......
 
 



March 3 2010



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