An other poem. I have been in a very poetic mood. Enjoy!
(Being part 1 of Walking)
The man Jesus was found of the highway. The roads then were
fine Roman work that lasted none the less. His lot
fallowed the word and his feet, when they felt like it, and never truly
in step with either. Still, the Christ child went from place to place, in
the cradle of life. The road under foot was the veins from his chest.
The first of the great walkers is gone from earth. He left, and others
have tried the highway of diamonds, but no it is deserted.
There are no travelers, only the four, the horsemen,
it is their turf now. Only the blind come near these places.
Still, the flood will come. No one will know
the horror of the fallen man. The record of our
failure in this course will be a permanent scene
in the sediment of the eastern Eden. No one
will hear us, no one will see a shield barring our
face. The death of my people descends
and all we do is walk toward it.