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Relentless
by Blake Kilgore We were limping toward the summit.The climb was arduous, sodden by blood and broken souls. But fingers reached down,clutched toward our yearning. Palms pushed the heaviness from below. Some hands were rugged, lined by sorrow and toil. Others smooth and green, sinewy, untainted and uncrushed by storms. A boulder loomed at the pinnacle. Rooted, it stood sentry to holy riddles. Cresting at last, known eyes and a familiar tongue bid us welcome. Emboldened by sentiment, we accepted guidance to their altar.Yet, something twisted snarled in the wind, and dissonance peeked from behind brotherly smiles. Instinct fastened children to rib bones and resistance boiled inside the perdurable columns of our spines. Coals, smoldering on lids of our beholding, illuminated the lie -hungry horses come to gallop and gorge on flesh of our weary flesh. Winged, demon stallions circled, oozed thorny tentacles around supple limbs, injected rage until kind eyes burned orange, until scorched marrow hoisted and poured regret down weatherworn cheeks.My wounded will not follow, neither will I. Windstorm sadness carries my kin above the deluge of jots and tittles. The fog will abate as Sun pushes in, mats hair to skin, plunges courage into the baptismal font, to rise again. Holy waters stir and drip, relentless, following the trudging of muddy heel and toe. Another shrine discovered, another hope destroyed. The sandbag is almost empty, we near the point of no return. Still we hobble on, searching. |
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