Walls Poem by James Cayce

In that whiteout
between hope and habit
where familiar patterns
form ghosts that won't be
laid to rest,
vision becomes
blurred
borders become
broken
leaving loved one's walls
on either side
to be scaled without
ropes or crampons.

And what good are those
in an avalanche?

'Step back'
some would doubtless say
'praise the Lord',
'seize each day'
They would have him
drag his cross
through the gauntlet,
the arguments, the barbs,
searching in silence
for stray epiphanies
like some mindless Saviour
hell-bent on the redemption
of the oblivious sinners.

but fellow travellers
might more adamantly say
that stepping forward
is the proper way

into the eternal salvation
of certainty.