Far along now. Can’t see where I started.
No sense of where this all ends. I once heard
that soft-gowned beauty’s lyre. Then we parted,
she to her mountain shrine, I guess. Each word
along this jagged trail now lies hidden
out of reach. What action’s left but to pray.
I sought shortcuts. Found them marked “Forbidden”.
Sneaked in old phrases, then watched them all fade.
The day’s grown tired. Dusk is turning to night.
Shall I stop? Keep moving? Trust the dark air
closing on me? Wait…Isn’t that a light
on that far hill? Yes. Can I make it there?
Should I even try? Ah! Hear that? The lyre…
flowing from that hill lit with passion’s fire…
Roger Armbrust
September 30, 2016
