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W. Guy Finley

Last Updated: 11/26/2009

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Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 37
Sign: Capricorn

City: ROUND LAKE
State: Illinois
Country: US
Signup Date: 11/25/2006

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Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Journey
Category: Writing and Poetry

The stare is fixed ahead of my shoes,
ahead of my heart, ahead of my dreams
My shoes dusty and worn, my shirt soaked with
the sweat.
Where am I going?
What is this point ahead of my shoes?

My heart vibrates the answer
and I continue on. My gaze fixed to the
horizon.
Sometime soon.
Sometime soon.

The sinews on my bone flex for another time
as my heart wills my body to walk.
I don't wish to continue onward.
I wish to stop for a while.
Yes, this place is good, this place is fine.

My aching bones chime in and say they too
think this is fine.
This is good enough.
This will do.
But my heart controls my eyes and my eyes are
fixed on the horizon.
Something more.
Somebody more.

The dust kicks up at my feet as they lurch forward.
My body slumps ahead and begins to move another time.
The horizon looms ahead as I move on
another time.
Another foot, another mile,
another minute, another year.

The sun sets and I still believe.
Another day comes and the dawn brings new
life and I still believe.
The dew from the grass licks the dust off my
shoes and like the water that flows it
spurs me on.

My feet and bone and muscle start to remember,
start to see what the eyes see.
Start to feel what the heart feels as it
moves life throughout me.
Believe.

As the sun dips below the horizon on another day
my heart commands a stop.
This, here.
This is the place, this is where it is.
My eyes look.
They are unaccustomed to looking at anything but horizon.

Blind my body stumbles about and tries
to find its way.
How can it be here.
There is nothing here, empty.
Stop searching and you will see.
My hearts slows and my body obeys.

I lie awake sleeping but not yet asleep,
alone but in a dream.
When the sun kisses the sky again I awake
from my sleep. And my eyes see.
I am on a moutain over a lush valley.
The trees creek in the wind.
Their leaves rustle in the branches.

My eyes are astonished.
How could it be here, this is not what I saw,
not what I was looking for.
My muscles refreshed now echo the thought
and say they don't remember the climb.

The climb, the search,
the walk, the gaze,
what matters any of these?
It is here you are.
And here you should stay.
For in me you believed.

©2007-2009 W. Guy Finley

5:34 AM

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Sunday, June 24, 2007

This isn't my blog....

This is my blog: