Blades

It isn’t the field where you fall,

along that trail turning left unexpectedly

where you assumed would end at a mansion,

which covers your mind

and consumes your attention,

utterly screaming so deep into your senses

so it totally dominates each thought.

 

Instead it is the blades that brush against your leg,

poke through the fabric and give it reality

that transforms the long fail trek towards an oasis

into a pit stop at the profound.

 

Words spoke while walking,

those assumptions of the sight,

suddenly lose their meaning,

no longer are they gems waiting to be found.

 

For that meadow met in its raw earthy essence

in life’s genuine heartland

has its own splendor and fascination,

provided you take time

to truly embrace the scenery,

feel its wealth with all its textures

rather than bemoan

how it isn’t heaven.

 

What lies before the feet

are the detours to truths without costumes

carefully and intensely touch

as either a the dwelling place embraced

filled with what can honesty be,

or just keep on telling yourself

somewhere will come that is greener.