I really should get around to writing when I am not requested to if I really want to be a novelist but such is the way life is at the moment. This is a poem I wrote for an event at school that was held on the feast day of St. Christopher. Professor Gaelan Gilbert, who organized the event, asked me to write something with the theme of travel since it was the end of the semester and people would be travelling and since St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers.
On the River and the Road
I
read “The road goes ever on and on.”
Great
wisdom did it sound, in truth, so I
Upon
the threshold stood and looked anon
To
see if some small path I could espy
Run
forth from hearth to meet expansive sky.
But
all was dark and overgrown, much more
Like
some great wilderness from times gone by.
I
dared not venture forth, alone and poor;
'Tis
dangerous to step outside one's door.
On
route far off, a man with burden great,
Two
beams of wood upon his bended back,
I
watched him stumble, fall beneath the weight
Behind
a hill. I ran for fear his pack
Had
overwhelmed its bearer and through lack
Of
strength, the man now lay alone and hurt.
However,
I was taken quite aback
To
see not man nor beams upon the dirt,
Instead,
to find a child very much alert.
The
clouds drew cloaks of grey o'er Phoebus' face
And
threatened storms with rumbling thunder drums.
I
tried to lead the child to a safer place
But
he continued on the road, past slums
And
farms, past ruling king and man who plumbs,
With
something like warm kindness in his eye.
But
then he came to where the road becomes
A
shore upon the riverbank. Nearby
The
ferryman with ugly face rose high.
Upon
his shoulders climbed and sat the child.
The
man began to cross the river broad
As
winds convulsed the waters as if wild.
With
every step, the storm grew loud and cawed
While
he seemed to lean longer on his rod
'Til
midway through, it looked as if they'd sink.
Yet
he still walked and reached the shore. I, awed
By
strength of will and faith pushed to the brink,
Was
left on further shore alone to think.
But
lo, the child turned 'round with hand outstretched,
A
hand, I saw, which had been scarred by nails.
His
eyes drew mine with love and sorrow etched.
The
ferryman returned amidst the gales,
Extending
to me a hand that never fails.
I
took that hand and found myself alone
Beyond
the threshold, on the road, with dales
And
mountains growing clear 'neath sun that shone
Anew
betwixt the clouds that soon were flown.
So
there I stood without my haven’s door,
Exposed
to all unknowns that could befall,
Whate’er
that man or Nature had in store.
Fear
gripped my heart with thoughts of pain and gall.
But
then a wind blew past my face, a call,
A
whisper spoke my name within the breeze,
Which
calmed and courage brought to my heart small.
I
found I need not be at such unease
When
unseen hands will hold in troubled seas.
