a travelin light poem

-at times our endgame dreams & visions get slowly compromised and blurbed aside from our best intentions.... when faith looks more like insurance policies opposed to inspired liberation.........

there is a travelin light poem:

suitcases aside

Las vegas or bust?

Jerusalem bound?

the Forum Romanum bug?

two branches diverge

in a solid trunk

One trunk

no journey is ever

linear....and the difference is

where grace

is

found

hole punched ticket

A future memoir of my past half decade

-Half a decade of cobble stoned and row housed, on this eastern sea-board of charming Baltimore and classic DC and our train pulls into the station, a few hurried steps, on-board and onwards towards the next. It takes moments to say goodbye,..............................................................................................goodbye?!
-That drafty marquee smiles back upon our sun drenched reflection as the final boarding call is herald.
-Time, that play by play analysis falling mainly into the sublime, with sharp peeks and deep valleys forever imprinted in permanent marker. The births, rebirths, lessons learned, unlearned and relearned are etched on the walls and stalls of life's small histories and laboratories.
-A student, a wise etudiant, knows that history will keep repeating herself, tripping, stumbling, slipping over her own follies if not revised, edited and refreshed.
-It's always that same reflection casting off that same window, under that same azure sky, in the same rail-car, station after station, stop after stop; yearning to understand the narratives sewn into this long journey, desiring to know the lessons taught by the mountaintops and valley floors and all those tumbleweed moments in-between.
-'And all the trophies posted on my wall, on my wall, on my wall..................are all just that......motionless posting, collecting cosmic static and dust....What was left behind that can stand on its own??'.......I murmur to myself.............
-I know that sooner than later, there will be a fresh patch of grass waiting to be trampled on by my wanderlust sole. The crackling from the train's exhausted intercom and the splintering of its words are incomprehensible to know the exact name of the upcoming town; but each looks remotely similar to the last, back alley debris, manicured plots, to that smell of fresh cut grass, and all the tumbleweeds there in between.
-Wonderment and hope seemingly take a backseat to fear most of the time. That driving wheel leaves one mumbling in monotone all the various plan b's and angles edging towards that perfect and eternal safety and security. Religion has it right that fear is the most powerful force and its prettiest of persuasion for us second tiered, halo tilted angels. Despite my mumblings and murmurs and feeble strategies, the sun pierces this innocent and rather nondescript visage of what looks like the outskirts of Durham N.C. or maybe perhaps Bozeman, Montana.
-I remember once seeing an awful accident, a year or so ago, offering me a glimpse of just how frail and fragile it all is-this has struck with me. To be conscientious. period. And grateful, comma. Alive! exclamation point.
-Perhaps it all comes down to this one hardly noticeable,quiet daily quiz. One suitcase full of selfishness and the other selflessness, both with heavy laden leather handles. The screeching of the brakes, the roaring of the train, anticipates another arrival and departure. As we angle west, the sun greets us blindly. At this point of departure, which do I carry on??