Slick, white line defined
and very even new topped road.
Much like the passing of yesterday,
as you slept below a starry night
Except, that it weaved its way in
and out of the sleepy, vacated hills.
Those overlooked hinterlands of your mind, whisper,
I walk the way less travelled,
even though the flat topped tar invites my weary feet.
For another, this time familiarity, their own pilgrim way
and they also seek, their ease, year end,
Some rest, in an uncertain world.
To what certainty we must return
has its rainsoaked views
and cooling airs too.
I chose the rocky camina today.
It was encompassed from what we think we know;
pylons, technology embedded in her,
the so-called power, 'hand of man'.
But ancient way, riven by feet, hooves, wind and water, it called, 'walk, a little time, back in time, with me'.
So, this night, arose out my slumber.
Bid me part, from what little warmth I had gathered to me,
to find a pen that does not falter
and a heart, that will not stop
and that empty page from a book on magic.
For even though the blood cools fingers,
it will not deter
and I do not defer this urging task too long.
I have my way and it determined
by what in earlier days of ease was written,
in hotter blood.
Now, I am this in the still, cold night,
bard, warrior, lover,
bearer of the fire eternal,
that lights, surely, my way.