Backbone Trail - Topanga Apryl Skies
It’s hard to say – it’s hard to know,
it’s hard to be certain; that’s for sure!
Even the morning mist seems rather tentative –
and the mangroves seem unable to make up their mind.
Although their roots – those arched protrusions,
becoming bridges in honor of oxygen, growing in
the direction of the light . . . they seem to have a deep
sense of knowing something.
And those thirsty appendages, bursting forth – the tender,
fertile announcement of another spring.
Although, even the fog seems a tad bit tired of its own mystique –
forever silent, tight-lipped – surrealistically secretive by design.
But there’s really something else
I want to say; another life,
other than my own, I wish to spotlight; another story,
with a uniquely different narrative; another odyssey.
And I won’t start from the beginning, not the middle, or the end.
In fact, I may not start at all, but simply leap directly into it nevertheless.
No worries . . . no more clouds of confusion or chilling winds of despair.
No more shivers of hope, quivers of compassion, or gasping for air.
No more laughter, no more longing, no more tears;
no more whispers, or those love songs sung as prayers.
No more emotion – for better or for worse.
No more promises, temporarily kept, before being broken.
No more smiles turning to frowns, within the light
of yet another disappointment.
No more mischief, no more trouble,
no more grief.
No more swimming, no more dancing, no more begging for what
you made yourself believe you truly need.
No more nightmares, needless
cynicism or deliberate neglect.
No more need for you to bear the beautiful weight
of this challenging world.
Now those halcyon swans float freely across the lake
you’ve since abandoned – where wild horses stop to take a drink.
No more rainy days or stormy nights . . .
No more sad tumultuous misunderstanding of the life
you simply could not figure out.
No more torment, no more agony . . .
no more restless days or sleepless nights.
No more raw nerves – needles and pins;
needles and spoons . . . no more needles!
Wayne Allen LeVine © 2011