POETRY
Posted: Fri Sep 27, 2013 8:26 pm
Path of the Waning Day, by Charles Carreon
The Voice of the Heart
Leads through a jungle.
Sitting in a boat,
Steering with an oar through turning currents.
The waters twist through winding courses;
I follow the path of the swirls.
You cannot see the sky,
Only green light sifting through the leaves,
A glimpse of blue,
The sun like a jewel flashing high in the vines.
I am a young traveler;
It takes youth to travel this path,
It takes suppleness to follow the currents,
Endurance to keep on without clear means.
In the jungle of the heart there is still threat,
There is danger for the traveler, and fear.
The waters comfort.
The waters console.
I follow their twisting winding,
Through the trees, old as crumbling castles,
That murmur with the Voice of the Heart.
I follow the stream, that never loses its way,
I follow the paths of the waning day,
And leave no tracks behind me.
I follow, and the sound of the waters is with me.
The Voice of the Heart
Leads through a jungle.
Sitting in a boat,
Steering with an oar through turning currents.
The waters twist through winding courses;
I follow the path of the swirls.
You cannot see the sky,
Only green light sifting through the leaves,
A glimpse of blue,
The sun like a jewel flashing high in the vines.
I am a young traveler;
It takes youth to travel this path,
It takes suppleness to follow the currents,
Endurance to keep on without clear means.
In the jungle of the heart there is still threat,
There is danger for the traveler, and fear.
The waters comfort.
The waters console.
I follow their twisting winding,
Through the trees, old as crumbling castles,
That murmur with the Voice of the Heart.
I follow the stream, that never loses its way,
I follow the paths of the waning day,
And leave no tracks behind me.
I follow, and the sound of the waters is with me.