A lonely soldier sends back to camp on a fire made for two. Guidance for Sherman on his way to the sea. Faint glimpses are all we see now. Clever whispers from someone we want to tell us how.
Give me that bread! But it's the last piece.
so hungry...
If wonders never cease why are there only eight in the whole world.
And why in the world do we wait.
We wait for someone to tell us how.
We want for someone to tell us they care. But someone comes along and tells the soldier how to light the fire.
Gather the wood; strike the match.
I tell myself I can't but I know if I tried I could. Been living and dying a lie.
Sherman knows the way to the sea. Doesn't need my help to find east. So i sit by the road and shoulder the burden of four years of giving and trying. Trying not to cry in front of Brother Turtle. War up ahead war behind. Will I find what I'm looking for, or will I wind up dead? The tortoise is old and thinks slower than he talks; walks slower than he thinks. Yet he may answer if I help him across the road.
The road you seek is the east but not the east of war. You are unexpected yet longed for.
You are unknown yet familiar.
He climbed to the top of the long log and sat next to me, shell straight, paws politely folded below the chin.
You look to the north and south of your mind and think the war is that which you will either lose or win. But who will win the peace?
I've been marching through all the sunsets this southern land has to offer. Hell and death before peace they scream as they spit musketballs from trees.
War is but a general agreement of dissatisfaction. Find your own peace; let others find their own way.
So it is peace i seek? Lying back against the fallen oak with my feet pushed out on sandy earth i try to remember long ago dreams of harmony.
My friend, he laughed his turtle laugh, serenity seeks you with an open heart and clear blue eyes. Her hair ripples out from her perfect face as blond as the rays of the sun. I have seen her through store front windows, and through shelves of glass witnessed her gentle hand.
To find this treasure without a map. I do not think I can. But the turtle wasn't listening to me. He moved along the log to chew some moss at the other end.
Worthy is the wait: for a strong love needs a strong heart, he said at last. He looked at me with his turtle eyes, blinked once, twice, then asked me to help him down. I wondered at how I could feel such a loss from something I never had as I lowered him gently to the ground.
11.18.1996
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