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 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.