Walk of Faith
You leave as dawn lights the skies.
Grey fog cloaks everything.
Even the familiar takes on an air of mystery.
You cannot see very far down the path.
The world is grey.
Strange limbs reach out from the fog
like wretched arms from hell.
You have walked this path before,
but there is nothing comfortable in this place.
None of the landmarks you trust can be seen.
But you have walked this path before.
and so you walk. Forward. Always forward.
Even if nothing you know is before you,
you trust the path.
About this poem.
I think there is a reason they call it a “walk of faith.” You can read the poem as a poem about faith, or simply about a walk on a foggy morning. Or, as I have learned, something else entirely. You readers and friends are often far more creative with my verse than I am.
The picture was taken near West Pawlet, Vermont.
Fondly,
Tom
