Monday, October 22, 2012

all the crooked things shall be made straight

the prophet, Isaiah,  proclaimed
ah but the devil is said to hate a crooked path
as always preferring the obvious 

we  yearn for an easing 
on our single minded journey  
a  straightening 

 yet the bump, the twists, 
the hairpin turns 
are the trip's  intake of breath 

 children yelp in  joy
on roller coasters roads
urging their father to drive faster

each hill a swoosh
and swivel 
of celebration

as each pebble in your shoe 
on a woodland walk 
is a little reckoning

let heaven be a holy mess
streets not paved in gold
but pot hole lined and limitless


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