Fearfull Forgetting

Great blue heron flies north

from the river towards the hills

the season is heading that way

from summer’s southern ease towards the western call

The direction of questing’s journey

striding past summer’s adolescent hopes born of fear,

marching through the great adult work of making a living

with sword and shield crafted in devil’s fiery compromise.

Now at dusk these weapons I leave behind

-      hands emptied by victory’s sand through fingers slipping –

all I can carry is my bible for a pillow to sleep upon

listening for pre-dawn’s call

where my soul’s angel sister

remembers what I lost

when Eden’s innocence fell

to the work of being a man.

We all first must climb

tomorrow’s peak of promise

to discover what no one tells…

“there is no greener grass”.

On the other side

we meet travellers coming our way

in search of the same thing

looking in the green lands we’ve already mined of fool’s gold.

The grail is an empty cup

and any crumbs of meaning

were long ago stolen by Elijah’s crows

to feed the seventh generation yet to come.

No drink but our own blood

no food but our own flesh

no truth but our own breath

no questions left to break the falling

as once sure footing slips

into weakened knees

into memory’s doubting, finger’s grasping

at the fearfull forgetting of “once upon a time”

Without a name,

without the answers,

without the will to climb again,

I scramble in nightmares for what once crafted my world.

They are broken tools

sharp edges dulled by time

they’ve lost the magic

my hands once turned them to.

Exhausted by the searching.

Bruised and broken by the falling.

Worn down by the grief of losing me, myself, and mine.

There is only still the lullaby

my sister angel sings

calling me to rise again

to dance what was born in me to dance 

towards the setting sun.