Holding on with Frenzied Grips

There’s always one moment right before,

The instant you realize,

One second where you see, and it’s clearer than all the rest

The children of God are not to live there, that is not their home

And so, they wander like the Moses-led

Just without the covenant and benediction

True trials are blessings

To the man who believes with head thrown back in abandon

That trust,

That faith yet fleeting

The impulse inside, the between of it all.

Momentous portents chatter staccato in the back of this assembly.

If the visionary has been blinded with the tears of his rage

Where will he find the guide, that gullible Charon, with punters rod and gondoliers wan expression

Traveling the journey that is not his destiny?

A voyage never towards, always just until, because then, it begins again

It is not his, or never was,

Why, is it there he remains, destiny but a footstep away

We are travelling with one too fearful to stop

Holding on with frenzied grips,

Pretending to control, by virtue of touch and possession

With simplistic expressions and just a hint of aggression,

Reclaiming our place, maintaining our pace,


Should be another cardinal direction

One that is easy to follow and find,

Since the ancestors did,

And we live in the shadow of their memories

And their memorials shelter us like brittle blessings

The air we breathe, redolent with whispered tones

Few of us remember those murmurs, since we have never heard them before.

by Melvin J. Rhoden