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Brent Terry


The Voice of the Stream


Searching for a place to deposit long kept tears.
Driving without seeing,
Navigating only with feeling.
Over long dead logging roads,
Large boulders everywhere scattered as if from eons ago.
Deeper into the dark heart of the wilderness,
Strewn from a temper tantrum - all of this.

Following the edge of the mountain.
A sated stream slithers so far below, begging my ear,
In the malevolent voice of the stream I can hear,
“Its easy, come with me,
I cleanse things you see.
Can take away discarded debris,
Let me, just once, cleanse thee! ”

Unwilling to course over the edge this time,
I leave the voice of the stream behind.
That water, could even ask such things,
And ugly thoughts of selfishness ring.
Nature will always have its pull,
But with me some voices - will not lull!

A fork in the road offers me choices.
Follow where tracks indicate others have gone,
Or take the less-traveled way alone.
The unknown, the uncertain path, and tiny fear deep inside,
The urge for exploration, and thrill of the ride.
Internal battles and temptation like sin,
This time the uncharted - takes over and wins.
I notice beside me the stream has returned,
The streams babbling lesson, I must not have yet learned?

Snow is deep now, and control I have shunned,
I gave up so much at the gate so far back.
Should have know better,
Maybe over the next ridge there will be sun?

I hear the chattering of my replicas.
Wanting me to retreat from the unsafe,
I obey as I do with most things in life.
He needs me to grow and become,
Reason always wins out, and breathes life into my lungs.

If I hadn’t turned around,
Would I have been found?
If I allowed my physical self to be as lost?
Could I comprehend the cost?
Strong need to remove my shoes from my feet,
Feel something solid underneath.
Centered, grounded, the earth urging me,
Squatting to feel her in my hands and see.

I search for a connection of heart and mind,
Have been nonverbal this entire time.
Realizing I don’t want to share gloom,
In such a peaceful place, and know what to do.

Inside a shout yearns for release.
I give-in; inhale deep, a cleansing breath takes shape,
And allow an animalistic sound to escape.
Giving it to the earth to absorb and do its filtering,
Giving it to the birds I disturbed to take away on their wings.
I hear no return sound,
It was all removed from this place where I felt bound.

Submitted: Thursday, December 06, 2007
Edited: Thursday, April 28, 2011

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