moving pictures in clouds and trees through which sunlight streams
evergreen towers in a quiet forest save the crunch of leaves underfoot
and a green so deep, i dive into the pockets of cool darkness beckoning
tell me your secrets and lead me further and further and beyond the light
past a forgotten grave site, and a broken cart wheel and ruins abound
around a solitary scorched hearth, so dark i'd swear it was still smouldering
further beyond the iron mines and the battered pines
and the streams of water and light that run off the mountain to a cliff
on which lies a vine, so long since fallen from its perch, a reminder of too many swings
before me a chasm so wide the way around long since abandoned
the other side is dim in haze and sunflecked leaves and the drop is a broken leg if not worse
but the pull to cross is so strong, as real as the blood coursing in my veins.
returned to this place, from which I ran so long and so far
beyond the forest and the mountain, and even the city where I've hidden these long years.
feeling the fear finally whither, so that the risk of not trying is a thousand deaths.
closing my eyes, whispering a prayer, a shaft of light appears, shimmering before me.
A way beyond the fears and the chasm of doubt.
I drink in the light, and I bless it. I am whole, and the chasm but a memory.
Jennifer D. Behnke, April 2013
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I'm not really sure what this is, but it is something that has been swirling around in my head for a while. It needed typing tonight.
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