By Rich Grimm Outlaw5503@aol.com
Date: 21 March 2000
Poets & Wanderers
What title may we ascribe to those dauntless and heroic few who search for
truth with their hearts--not their eyes,
Whose quest carries them headlong into the void, daring to lose all for
the chance to experience something greater.
What reward do we bestow upon them as they come crawling
back to us, exhausted and spent,
Their minds ringing with the thunderous peal of God's voice--or the
soul soothing stillness of a warm gentle breeze.
As their eyes gaze far away into the deepest parts of Eternity--the
wonder bursts forth as mere words on a page,
Emotions race and swoon through the limited vessels of our fleshly
abodes, seeking a release back to the InfiniteŠ
Dancing with wild joy amongst the valleys and groves in the Ancient
days, the beauty of nature lives within our songs,
It flows from the earth, the trees and rocks through the lakes into our
souls--and out through our voices and back again.
Illusions that we see with our eyes blind us to the truths that are
revealed only to an open heart and searching mind,
Were we at peace with our world and ourselves, we would recognize the
truth that resides and emanates from everything.
From the simplicity of a quiet Fall day, watching as the animals take
their needed sustenance from the Giver--with no fear,
To children at play--living and rejoicing within the moment granted
them, concerned not with tomorrow and its evils.
Those of us with a sufficiently twisted psyche seem more willing and
able to accept what we do not see, in lieu of faith,
Perhaps our souls have joined with some of the darker sides of life--
maybe we just dream so much that reality is lost on us.
Some in this world stare straight ahead at the wonders and horrors,
never blinking--some cover their eyes, ears and minds,
The beauty of a child being born cannot be experienced fully without
there being blood and pain involved in that birth.
There is rarely a period of Renaissance without a Dark Age to compare
it too, and hate without passion is just a bad mood.
Wanderers exist everywhere searching for something more or something
less--or something different, just look in the eyes . . .
Mayhap you will find a light there that beckons to your own soul--
calling you to come along and join in the journey,
So close your eyes and allow your soul to be set free, singing with the
angels as together, you wing your way on to Forever.
And should you return with that far away look in your eyes, take a
moment and let your heart spill its secrets onto paper.
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