The Right Hands 01 – 23 – 04

A psalm.

A new day has begun.

Burning brightness pours in.

Sun magnifies the mountain face.

Creation’s savory splendor nourishes the soul.

A brisk breeze breathes on my face.

I brood on a brief break the cool temper.

Dreams and thoughts dance as I drive, headstrong.

Flickers fly. Fancies form into fixed obstinacies.

The long walk is arduous.

Strenuous stretches stain and smirch.

Winding ways and hidden passages darken the journey.

The daybreak dies, diminishes into the depths.

Alone, the tracks fade;

Fade far away, alone. Blinded from the beauty.

This is the end of myself.

What remains runs recklessly into the right hands.

Jason A. Muckley