I wouldn’t have chose the rails, if there hadn’t been such a fuss.
A man of letters then, does what he must.
But I’m thinking, maybe there are no rails
across the water to glide one, so full of steam.
Without a worry to upset the wheels you’re not on.
Just take to the sea. as it is,
rolling, and no predictable motion.
I think that is life.
I find maybe, we shouldn’t worry so much as we do, about ourselves.
Rails are man made to force direction.
The sea lets the fates determine that.
Our maybe just a wandering path you travel without guides.
A river to float on,
to stop and venture at your whim.
Just to view beyond your touch or involvement.
Shout out, “Hey what’s going on there?”
And float on your way.
A woman skirting her children away.
“Not down there with you all.”
But one child, the one child,who stands;
interested in the picture and waves.
It is her that becomes the one who believes in the motion of life.
But rails? No. It’s better unsettled.
Children wandering for answers, I think we all are.
I think we want that. For us to question our place and look at it
for truth.
And then, finally then, we are able to meet our maker.
Ahh, but out the door the water’s thrown.
The baby too, if it’s not known.
To find yourself on rails? It’ll never happen.
No. Jump the track; don’t look back.
No comments:
Post a Comment