On a Path Where Angels Tread

Sometimes we can see a piece of paradise in the world around us. In the reflection of an alpine lake, we can find a window into eternity. We are the children of the universe, lost in a lonely woods, looking for the way back to the spring of our origin. Yet, here we are all along.

Poets Who Walk Thy Shore

Thou, forest dark with spruce and larch, high walled,
With weave of needled branches formed to bar
All intrusion, by inquiry appalled,
Bent on wearying eyes that gaze afar
To secrets that lie old on speechless tongues,
Are thy cold altars empty but for night air
Through which thrust purposeless ascending rungs
To the sky, to heaven, or to nowhere!

In thy columned cathedral does there dwell
Some pious priest of yore or mystic lore
Who might with merciful design impart
Life’s meaning or of eternity tell?
Ignore no more poets who walk thy shore,
Whose lips sing mention of thy empty heart,
And breathe human passion through thy silent hall –
Should no soul remain to hear thy trees fall.

~ Daniel F Mitchell