you must go on -
on the stage,
on the trail,
on the path,
through the scary woods alone at night.

you must go on -
in the storm,
in the calm,
in the dark,
even though you are weary with fright.

you must go on -
at morning,
at mid-day,
at suppertime,
when things don't feel right.

you must go on -
from then,
from now,
from hence,
because it's the only way you will find the light.

they are *****,
ripped and torn in places,
the treads on the bottom long ago
lost their roughness,
so the footing is no longer secure.

they are comfortable,
stretched out along the contours of me,
a familiar sight among my belongings,
a color my eye is trained to seek out
even in the darkest of nights.

but these shoes do not belong to me -
they belong to the man who bought them,
for whom they were an inspiration,
a way out of a previous life,
a means to further himself,
to become more.

I have been trodding in his shoes,
feeling his pains and triumphs,
knowing his path,
for it was my path,
and i am no longer the man who bought these shoes.

it sounds simple: to sit.
to remove the weight from one's legs,
and relax the body,
and enjoy the simple act of doing nothing
but sitting.
no phones,
no music,
no voices,
no books,
no activities.
just me and a bench in a park -
time to think,
time to reflect,
watch the people going by,
observe the birds flitting about,
see life unfold,
and understand -
what it means to sit.

i cast the line out,
trying to get that perfect roll,
where it lays out just so,
and it looks like the fly on the end just fell there,
presenting itself to the creature lying in wait,
just out of sight.

i start to pull back on the line.

swiftly moving,
the strike comes,
the line goes taught,
the weight on the other end pulls
and i hang on to pull it in.

and the sheer joy on her face
reminds me that it's the simple things
that matter most,
a simple act of playing a game,
with a rumble-tumble ball of fur
who brought me her string this morning,
so i could go fishing for kittens in my living room.

on my commute there is a building.
facade worn and *****,
the brick needs to be replaced in places,
repointed in others,
but it's solid.

they've been working on it for months, now,
and today i finally saw
that they've been working from the inside out,
and now it's time to open the building,
and let the hard work be seen.

as i went by,
i was awed by the care they took,
to preserve the old brick that needs repointing,
because the outside is worth keeping -
when the work within shines forth,
augmenting the past,
renovating the future.

i dreamed last night,
first i was a bear -
strong and sturdy,
protector and warrior,
mother and father both.

then, i was a falcon -
wings spread wide,
riding the air on an unseen road,
the world spread out before me,
mine to behold.

and as i dreamed,
i understood the call of bird and beast,
and listened.
and found my peace.

i like to listen to the rain
on a day i have nothing to do,
and let the sound of each droplet on the window glass
water my naked soul as it would the ground,
refreshing and new,
life springing again from within me
from the gentle coaxing of the rain
as it falls so willingly to the soil.