I could stand still
if I knew where I was headed,
but the light is gone long since;
I have lost my destination (or destiny)
in the fog.
To walk is stumbling steps,
starting, stopping, striking stones
before my faltering feet –
But not to walk – to wait,
that’s worse,
an unstealthy insecurity,
fear of susceptibility
to unknown presences of the dark.
My moving feet beat back the terror from my heart
but worlds still weigh wearily. . .
Hoof-beats from behind
overtake and pass me by.
I yearn for such a swift steed to carry me
off
to something beyond now.
But beneath the burning wish
I know it would be no escape:
Escape to where, and what?
What is out there
in the dark or in the dawn
for me. . .
© Samuel Birrer and Serendipity, 2017.
