I’ve heard it before, but it has been so long that the sound is not a familiar one. In a swirl of clichéd verses shouted down my spine like a waterfall of déjà vu moments, some pleasant, some not so much, I hear it for the first time even thought it feels like I’ve heard it as some persistent mantra in my past. Like the roar of great cascading falls, I can hear the stories being told and the wisdom being shared, and can feel the not-so-wise teardrops wetting my mind like a mist departing the roar of those cascading waters I’ve known forever, but only now have seen fit to call my own.
The loud roar of droplets being torn from their placid flow fills the air around my observant soul; each one telling its own story in a way that makes it seem oh-so-real. The air dances as it embraces the misty tales of love and woe, each teardrop filtering the light around it in tiny little hues of color and bewilderment. It’s hard to focus here, and I hear the Voice whisper to me in the warm, spring arms that embrace us all,
“Your saddest tears can create the most beautiful rainbows if you point them toward the light.”
A smile crests my soulful lips as I watch each drop float in the sunlight before landing on my skin. I can see the hues of color projected chaotically all around until, mystically, they form one brilliant, bright rainbow upon the very mind that creates them. If I change my view the colors fade, and the mist becomes nothing more than a chilled reminder of what I lack. My choice is to remain where the warm sunlight shows me the brilliance all around. There, I am free to smile, to love, to accept it all on terms uniquely my own, on conditions that suit the me I wish to be.
I have followed the river against its flow until I came to this place. I have learned a great deal, but as I look upon the great falls in front of me I wish to scale the rocky cliff to find its beginning, and to find the source of all I seek to see. I’ve discovered the wounds fail to exist in the presence of such great wonder, and that the darkness we seem to dwell on fails to live in places where the light shines even in the tiniest of specks. We are the gods of our own devices, the masters of our own destiny.
“The world is not flat as you’ve been taught,” says the Voice. “Go find the new world, and fear not your discovery.”
The Wanderer begins.
loved reading these and can relate to them, being a poet my self. I especially like the ones that tell a story that captivates the reader, most often on a personal basis, keep up the good work, Our english teacher would be proud of us and Mr McCarger would be equally pleased