The Voice heard

Graham Hayward

The grasp of winter finally relaxing.

I enter the wall of humidity still colored from last night’s dark.

Walking the walk, my wingman K-9 and I, did early morning rounds.

This is a stroll of thought and ponders, for lately the way I make a living is overshadowed.

I am filled with words wanting an escape while dancing to the daily grind of safety.

No easy answer for I support in emotion and responsibility others unable to do so for themself.

No regret for I do so out of choice, still, the thought of Quills call holds romance for me.

Even knowing the resistance to being known or recognized, it does call my name.

As we push through the moist air beneath an opaque sky of drab, I wonder if the stars are entertained.

Surely they have heard this conversation as many times as the stars adjacent to them each.

I am nothing special, in that another mortal questioning the future.

While the earth shakes around me in death and despair, typical I think only of myself.

The gods must sigh in disappointment, as I struggle with such insignificance.

I will not bend in embarrassment or will, I hear the call and choice is mine, so God proclaimed.

The thoughts of crucifixion, betrayal, and rising again flood me.

I know I would not be capable of such grace, knowing beforehand, reliving through us.

I feel it is more than a reminder, a message to be considered as I stand alongside the darkness.

My wingman looks at me and we travel back to our home.

Inside our day begins but my travels continue for I am uncertain of the message.

Only knowing I will not be alone no matter my choice.

Wondering if the call I feel exceeds words.

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Men.21times@gmail.com

Men.21times@gmail.com

Create, Compose traversing subject and medium. To new beginnings, journeys, destinations and the wonderful beings we meet along the way!