It started slowly at first,
Moved by a hopeful curiosity.
One foot first and then the other.
Treading stony ground
Through thorny brush,
Fighting heavy fog over unfamiliar paths.
Stumbling in the darkness
My hands flung out to break the fall.
But the ground was unforgiving,
Mocking, as it were,
Such infantile efforts,
There, at my lowest,
With my eyes fixed on the ground
Drained of foolish pride,
That’s when I saw it.
Covering the palms of my hands!
Yet, curiously not my own.
It draped the ground,
Laid out as a sort of map
Over ruthless stones,
Purposely arranged in meticulous order.
It called to me,
Pointing the way through intricate paths,
Hidden doorways, over complex terrain.
Suddenly, there he was.
A human canvas of crimson hues.
Suffering, and royalty
In a simultaneous show of beauty.
A cross bearing fountain of blood.
Dripping life to the beat of a mighty stride.
Leaving signs for all who dare come after him.
“It’s time”, he said, handing me my own cross to bear.
One look into his eyes and the fog was lifted.
He walked on, clearing the way before me.
I fell in, following close behind,
Never to be the same again.
OK, guys, this is my first non-rhyming poem. (well I tried) Please, I'd appreciate pointers, corretions, or constructive criticism! :)
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