straight, narrow
I …
am obtuse angle -
once lost … wandering
an indigent urchin of Valhalla’s streets
a smudge on the heavenly lens
and yet …
made worthy by the art of
your papery hands
as they place gilded cobbles ‘neath my feet
tear-washed and baptized
to tread where gods devoured their days
spinning men’s dreams to thistle
and puffing them gone …
all for granted -
all aged by apathy and arrogance
their own vile victims …
you have brought me to know -
to find wonderment
and to see for myself, their ruin
a calamity of conceit
that we tiny things paid dearly for
we bottom-pocket contrivances
tenders of oblivion
meant only to kiss the toes of what
they deemed precious …
and still, strolls here now in their stead
one such costless creature
but priceless too
for the sake of the one path they
could never weave
a gold-shine track paved to immortal
existence by the
care and kindness of gentle fingers -
hands aged by the tares of three lifetimes
yet soft with gentleness …
your simple act of humility and grace
and the sacrifice that is never
a sacrifice -
the only key to The Gate
and the one treasure that in all
their divine majesty
escaped them …
love.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art of Mom’s and my hands created by Yours Truly - filtering effects at Prisma / Lightroom )
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