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PathWalkers.Net Interactive :: Helping you along your path
by Frank MacEowen
There is a strange place,
fertile and giving,
between worlds,
where infinite crossroads suddenly converge.
In that place
of pungent winds and potent flowers,
there is not death--only
memory, and ancient futures waiting.
Ordinarily we all pass over such places.
We ignore the secret language
that rises up from the walkway—
that yearns to be spoken,
or sung,
or even danced into being.
We ignore it because we are taught to.
They say:
Do not surrender.
Do not turn yourself over to it.
Pretend that magic is not real.
Act as if,
in this hard place,
your heart is never stirred.
What silence!
I once had ceaseless courage.
Fortitude was not a rare thing.
I still stand in such a world.
Fearless.
But my silence, now,
is not from lack of courage.
Your beauty has stolen my tongue.
There are powerful winds rising from the East.
They whisper change.
They tell of departures.
On these winds?
The sound of flutes;
http://www.pathwalkers.net/interactive/modules.p...ame=News&file=index&catid=13&topic=&allstories=1 (12 of 19) [12/25/2005 12:05:13 AM]