Not Easy The Path Which Took Me

Not the easy path which took me. Not understood even now.

I gaze transfixed. Like pole-axed film buff I view the screen's illusion remarking on confusion. There in the montage incomplete, tea leaves are interpreted.

North, facing away from the sun, to polar star project I have become a priest.

West, towards tomorrow and across the sea, I am Columbus blundering.

South, seeding mustard to mark my path, I pace the missionary's quest.

East, Oriented to the ruins of bas-relief, glass in hand I examine the past.

I -- Crisis in her eyes, the nun ran down the steps to plead her cause, Minced words bit back, her habits in and out in disarray.

The remembering is. Many we are one. Legion is but legend.

II -- Curse the bloody tide, the fisherman rocks upon his need for safe passage. The fruits of his labor strain for market validation.

Why not the many false starts? Why not a reckoning in the fusion?

III -- Cold handed king locks the strong-box and gloats upon his mastership. Never knowing the rat that gnaws his passage rifling.

These and more we all have seen, but form will pass away.
And mercenary souls shall predicate, "Until That Day."

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner