Set my face to the North
to the misty lands
to the place where everything
reaches to the skies
for to see God’s creation
Past the stone bridge
the river lane
between the throng of trees
do they e’er cross over
I wondered
Do they meet
now and then
when men have gone to rest
do they stride, stately
in their mossy cloaks
For as I walked
among those sentinels
they waved and they creaked
as if souls aching
to wander
The trees whispered
behind their broad
mighty hands
secret sayings
chanting, praying
These grand souls
lifted their cathedral arches
to the heavens
their mossy feet finely laced
in the earth
They were all at one
the ancient elders
the congregants
the foundation
and the vault
How could I be lost
in that forest house
striding as a penitent pilgrim
before their graceful pillars
they command reverence
I could lose myself there
in God’s majestic
brooding creation
that holy place
silent and vital
Under stained glass windows
of canopies unending
miles of green sparkling
in the blue and sun rays
I found myself
A little smaller.
________________________________
First published
April 3, 2017 5:00 pm
Paper Screams 