Many times
the words become ‘lost.’

It is then THIS Wanderer
becomes alive on a trail leading toward
endless tomorrows.

No longer
immersed in crowds,
the need to follow others
saying, “This is the way.”

Now…this lost path
traveled by few—
it is the yellow Brick Road.

‘Oz’ is not the destination.
No, it is the enchanted
eternity ‘being’ lived in.

All around
life pours itself out—

in chaos…a scarecrow becomes
‘conscious’—“thinking”…the wonder of it all

in calm…a tin man lubricates a
heart that has never missed a beat

a stillness learned…a courageous lion sits
perched within a pride.

so silent

The only sound ‘breath’
…breath, a prayer
holding this moment

hoping NOT to be found…

and a pair of shiny red shoes
lay beside a roadway

the path trodden
rising as if no step
had ever been taken.

The Wanderer—
a small ‘point’ on the horizon’s line

In a spectacle of wonder.

0 replies

Leave a Reply

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *