Road From An Angel's Bow

Road From An Angel's Bow

Beyond the seasons turning

            like an endless wheel with

                        summer ripe and heavy

                                    upon the groaning bough

                        autumn leaves rustling and falling

                                    in blood red and rich gold

                        winter snow a cold and clammy

                                    blanket of frozen white

                        spring buds kissing rainbows glowing

                                    in the dew and cobwebs

            life slowly turns along an ancient road

                        stretching across the

                                    long and lazy years

                        to a far distant pinprick of light

                                    in the haze heavy upon the horizon

                        the beacon shining

                                    from the Halls of the Father.

To the song and warm welcome waiting there

            the road wends its way

                        straight as an arrow

                                    shot from an angel's bow

            cleaving the maze of snaking tracks

                        following a shimmering mirage

                                    forever out of reach

            parting bleak byways that

                        lead nowhere save to thorns

                                    in the barren wilderness

            passing stony pathways

                        lying in wait

                                    to cut the heart

            crossing dark laneways

                        where silver dreams

                                    fade to nightmares

            bridging deep rivers

                        to suck down

                                    and drown all hope.

To that light

            a strengthening star

to be faithfully followed

                                    like the three wise men from the east

            my soul is drawn

                        not like a moth to the flame but

                                    as a ship to a harbour in the storm

            with wisps of memory

                        of ancient lamps in soaring halls

                                    lighting the path

                        of timeless songs

                                    making smooth the way

            with an angel singing

                        going before me

                                    carrying the bright fire of hope

            my heart is wending its way

                        for at long, long last

                                    I am going home

                        home to the

                                    Halls of the Father.