Woodstream Steps

by Steven Craig

I sit on the steps and ponder the ways
I still wonder at the reasons I choose to ever come this way.
Slowly, the sum shimmers across my eyes.
Slowly, I see the roads end, and feel the sun on my skin.

Our time, at each portal I closed, never to know what of there was, had I stayed behind.
Ever of more concern, is the end of the road.
It stares at me as I sit upon my step.
A reminder of the terrors of my dreams.
A memory of a visionary, a dreamer now remote.

I chanced it, and it became what it would have been anyway.
At that, I smile, for the tricks my road has played with me are those I had played upon it.

The roads end, amid the trees and the suns light against my eyes, and the step upon which I sit are the last torments of youth, and long a pain that has dwelled unloved within me.

Too long, the pain has been the end of the road.
Too long, the pain has been the terror, the fear even, that this pain was really the truth.
Now consumed, I know the pain was in terror of being alone with itself.
Knowing pain, is deeper than the road, deeper than the roots of the trees at its end. I turn here, just to see the road, the one that has just begun.
From here, the roads runs on, on forever, from this step into time.

To feel for a while things so deeply that only tears surface.
To stand and feel the chills now at your ears, and know that some magic could have been, had the day been different, the night less long and dark, or the hand just a bit faster in the reach.
Disturbed that you can really feel this way, ever afraid to forget that this is how it feels. Ever sorry that it even took you and left the hideous memory of something else other that that which it became.

Standing at the far point in your mind, awash in the thoughts of a time, a place, a dream, the fading flash that was your life.
It is suddenly gone, changed only that it will be harder still to remember next time.


Posted on 07/21/2006
Copyright © 2020 Steven Craig

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