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God Is My Sherpa
These paths go everywhere
The guide has turned back
And the snow is blinding
Our feet are uncertain and leaden
And the lightning whispers
Portents of doom and promises
Of flowers only at the end
Of one road travelled lightly
So we tiptoe amongst the howling wolves
Keep our eyes on our toes
Which path-taken feet nimble with
Over ledges with crackling static fire
Bursting our toenails hooves of tiny horses
Scabbling up the rock-strewn paths
Go everywhere
The guide has turned back
This poem is a fine one, but, it has to be said, that what I was taken by was the title - almost a one line poem in itself. God is my sherpa - very handy when all the green pasture for being layed down in lie down there below the snow line.
Sandy
excellent read.... loved it .... kept me on the edge of my sit so to speak.... what a picture you can create from words...