May 2010
Black like spiders telling truths only God should know
The wise old hermit
Offers you his hand as if you were a child
And leads you forth into the unknown.
As you walk, you think to ask,
"Where are we going?"
But you realize it doesn't matter
Since you know that wherever you're going
He'll be there with you
In the shadows of your mind
Holding your hand
The wise old hermit
Offers you his hand as if you were a child
And leads you forth into the unknown.
As you walk, you think to ask,
"Where are we going?"
But you realize it doesn't matter
Since you know that wherever you're going
He'll be there with you
In the shadows of your mind
Holding your hand
I wrote this poem because of the first line of the first stanza. It was one of those nights where my mind wouldn't allow me to sleep, and that was one of the things it produced.
(Ann Arbor)
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