In The Middle Of Every Journey
In the middle of every journey
Stands a question
Usually along the very faultline of the soul.
Should we have come?
Were we fool to have believed?
Any chance we could have it all back as it was?
There are many cliffs before the summit
The path on our mountain makes no sense at all
Needs, gathering, circling their prey above this canyon.
Will we find ourselves among the broken bones?
Can these legs take us through another mile?
A journey this long feels the same as being lost.
We are the sudden hosts of intersecting stories
Shadows taking flight, light plunging into ground
And maybe no more strength to scale these boulders.
Remember what brought us through the door?
Faith, hope, and will: love’s fiercest nomads
Who even still can see beyond our daily wilderness.
Bless these hallowed hills of no direction
Praise the nothingness of trudging step
Beginning to end- this terrain is ours to know and fill.