Poetry

A Wilderness

I felt the rough palms of those laboring hands,
      hands that supported me and showed me each way.

It seemed natural, the bridges that appeared
      at my feet as I sauntered along, a wondering child

gazing into wandering skies. I stumbled through
      time, in the procession of days, to unknown heights—

following the paths they cleared for me.
      Through the dense fog, the carved curves of the thicket

led me to these rolling pastures. I knew not
      the weight of life, ‘til it was my own hands that grew

marred and callused. Once, under a black blanket
      dressed with silver suns, I suddenly felt life in every shadow.

Alone, I watched the glowing eyes of coyotes reflecting
      the firelight. Lost in open fields, I inherited a wilderness.

I move onward down each nameless path these
      laboring hands clear away, day by day. I gaze into the

rippling streams that run through the hills, and I wash my face.
      Some strange figure kneels before me resembling my father.

8 thoughts on “A Wilderness”

  1. Elle says:

    brilliantly crafted literature, sir.

    1. John Foster says:

      That is a very great compliment, thank you.

  2. stardustpoet64 says:

    Reblogged this on Flow of Stardust and commented:
    Your work is like discovering opals in fragrant mosses, the dampness and texture is present, the colours, all suggestion for the dendrites are tuned so finely. A joy to journey with one of your pieces. Thank you.

  3. jacquibenford says:

    Such beautiful imagery throughout! My favorite line “lost in open fields, I inherited a wilderness”

    1. John Foster says:

      Thank you for stopping by to read and comment! It’s great to learn what parts of the poem you enjoyed most.

  4. Cassandra says:

    The last two lines gave me shivers. Beautiful

    1. John Foster says:

      I’m so glad to hear the words had an impact. Thank you for reading and for your nice comment.

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