Looking for a way to forge a path

New untrodden, cutting down weeds
pushing aside branches.
A path that touches the deep
down freshness of things* called
Life. Life unartificial not
paved, painted - primped or "put-together" -
but the truth in which an ocean
of Love abides. I would dive
into it if I found it.
Little trickles tempt my pallette
so that I can say - I have tasted its goodness.
Of its Reality and my heart turns
toward that eternal country: not here.
I do not know if they love - those
who do not understand the way I want to run.
Laughing at my impulse to change, create,
but saying they always knew I would
if I succeed. But if I fail- their love
lies hidden, masked, undefined.
And I am alone again, remembering
the hidden country.
Forging my way there, calling out these
little cries that Another does hear
and watching for that trickle - a voice rather,
Presence, truly - who in my
darkness, draws near.


ejb

*G.M. Hopkins reference