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The Searcher


Here the searcher’s tale:

A lonesome tragedy

Of the journey that ensues

If one is sent,

Most confident,

Into a world that’s free.


A cloaked man astride,

A hero of the night.

Illumined by desert sky

He considers

And he concentrates

On every stellar light.


In breaking dawn a falcon

Sails in circles o’er his hood,

And fading stars

Are harbingers

And sentinels

Of all that he’s endured.


Still the man is young,

Though fraught beyond his years.

That violent thought

Philosophy, has entered

And electrified

His tears.


A village on a hill

With wooden ramparts hung

Allowed the tales

Of strife and grief and certitude

To grow while

He was young.


Envisioned and invigorated

To proselytize with pride,

Throwing open oaken doors

To seek, survey

And subjugate the weary world

Outside.


Borne unto a plain and

Released thereon,

Fearsome snarling beasts

Impressed upon

His timid mind the searchers

That are gone.


Wider wandering paralyzed

And overcame his wit;

Dusted spirits rose

On every side,

Shifting to obscure

His writ.


There he dropped his gaze

To a scarcely trodden path:

He learned with close devotion

The intimations

Of the gravel, of the grounded

Epitaph.


Like aeons bear on canyons

And send ribbons through their walls,

His eyes grew tall

His back was broad,

His will and wisdom fortified

And called.


Let the searcher search!

Let him wander on.

Certain will he starve

If he follows not

To every peak and every deep

The dawn.


The sighs between entombed text

Now galvanized his mind,

Ever excavating,

With cautious step,

The tunnels and the quarries

Of his kind.


Some exhilaration

From the scarring of his skin:

Scraping granite truths

In effort to

By growing wiser, make

His armour thin.


Now heritage, that strangest weight

Oppressed his kindling heart.

Emerging from the dark,

Bound but

Not imprisoned by the stories

They impart.


And through enchanted forest,

Enchanted by his eyes,

The searcher wondered wilder

And soon forgot

The timber and the tools and all

That made his village rise.


Deeper in the brush,

Farther in the bramble,

He found a nature

Vicious, cold,

And virulent

As up and out he scrambled.


He searches in the cities, too

Under vacant spires

Burning, burning histories

Is he grasping

As they flicker up and flutter

From the fires.


Upon his knees atop

The ruined scaffolds of his time,

He grateful scraped away

Gilded rubble scattered equally

Like so much

Fragile rime.


The searcher hunches over

And surveys his soul.

The devils there he finds

Are far and wide

The friends and riches

Deepening the whole.


Lightning as a fickle guide,

He stumbles from his throne

And sees that all is rootless:

All his wondering

All his wandering, all

As barren as his bones.


The same that burned his ramparts,

The same that burned his throne,

These wicked creatures,

Wolves and men,

Had preyed and led him

Far from home.


Feeble and unhinged

He descended in the dusk,

Past the empty pinnacles

And caverns

And the rising soot

For paths that he can trust.


Clear away the cage, then

If it rigid stays

The searcher’s soul for you,

For all, is lost

Without horizon,

Without the open winded place.


Let not the searcher cease

Point him towards the dawn

Certain will he leave you

For the warming,

For not all are lost

Who choose to wander on.


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