You found me at the edge of a precipice,
disjointed with raw torn flesh.
The pack of wolves scattered at the sight
of you  backlit by the sun against the snow.

Looking down I saw only darkness waiting,
for my fall against the razor-sharp rocks
lining the pathway of death below.
Numb from the pain I closed my eyes.

I heard your footsteps approaching.
Yet I could not open my eyes to see you.
But I felt the radiant warmth which
enveloped my body, mind, and soul upon your touch.

You spoke softly a prayer I did not recognize.
The numbness abated and my bones and wounds
were instantly healed at your command.
My eyes opened, and beheld your unequaled grandeur.

Behind you stood a white horse untethered,
waiting for your silent command.
I fell to my knees unable to speak.
You reached out your hand and raised me up.

“The path to follow is marked out before you.
Follow it and you will not stray into danger.
The wolves are gone. You must carry on.”
Those were your final words.

© Phyllis Weeks Rogers 9/25/2018

Header photo credit: via Bing




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