POETRY: Trails

From here to nowhere lies a path
worn slick as glass by stumblers on its way
no one footprint distinguishable from another
washed smooth by rain two steps behind.

The signposts clear along the way
sharp-edged as shaped by a diamond cutter’s tool
followed firm in dogged trudge
determined to leave nothing far behind
except a dreary goal well-lit by fire.

Down the road a cheer is heard
friends and foe alike stand waving palm fronds
in the gusts of changing wind
terrible and silent to the traveler’s ear.

The hours hang like oaken yokes upon the walkers
last lonely steps passed trembling-kneed and weary
a mocking victory feast laid out upon the table
set out with goblets of water turned to bitter wine.