And into the river, our raft had veered.
As I looked over my shoulder, my guide had disappeared.
I frantically searched and begged him to return
His voice then delivered my next lesson to learn.
“My faces are those you’ve seen in life
And though familiar they bring you strife.”
I realized that I must not look, but listen.
Verbal instructions would lead me through this mission.
Pitiful cries polluted the air
And though I closed my eyes, I could feel them stare.
Remembering words and solemn pictures,
Forgotten psalms and empty scriptures,
Recognized voices of the dead
On this river of tears that I had shed.
Grief and sorrow held me in their sway
But speaking to my guide did numb the pain.
“Sometimes in life, a path can’t be shown.
Only through communication will it be known.
I shall return when the terrain grows higher,
For soon we shall cross the clouds of desire.”