Look now, the hidden road denies these footsteps
their certainty, unsure though they wend,
through what little solid soil succumbs
to plodding, silent shoe-footfall.
Forward slowly, halting back apace,
how often my wayward way, the Way, ‘tis not.
These choking vines abort momentum,
spilling out on soft and silent stones
their devious designs along this rutted path.
A fog, a mist, a nightling now,
I deign to trust what lying eyes will tell,
list’ning instead for the rustling wind
some branch to bow and bend and brush my face
and share with me geography.
Unsteady though the way must be
my hands atremble reach for other hands
for, only then, does lostness find its way.
Rob's Lit-Bits 
This piece is absolutely beautiful, Rob. What a lovely way to describe the foggy and clouded journey – we Do need those ‘other hands’, don’t we?
Melody, the deeper I go in the Christian journey, the MORE I need others to walk with and guide and chide me, not LESS. Moreover, there is LESS not MORE of which I am certain. Only God remains.
A sure sign of maturity – knowing that you don’t know.. 🙂
“unsteady though this way must be.” so it is. well done.
Thank you, ma’am.