Walking into the light...

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman


"O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish;

what good amid these, O me, O life?"

Answer: That you are here; that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"

                                            - John Keating, 'Dead Poets Society'

The clouds looked dark and the wind howled loud,
the lonely wanderer walked through it all without a shred of doubt,
a grim smile on his face and his fears put to test,
he made his way through the raging tempest.

The trees were shaking,
beneath the stern gaze of the storm they were quaking,
the sword of lightning wrought havoc with each stroke,
amidst all this he stood tall akin to an oak.

The river was raging,
against the wind a war it was waging,
but he swam through the river,
and not once did his heart shiver.

The night grew cold,
but the traveler stood bold,
it was a battle of wills,
bringing forth all their skills.

The winds screamed louder,
and the lightning smote harder,
the wanderer’s heart grew darker,
and his steps seemed to falter.

Then the veil of clouds parted,
with a spear of light it was thwarted,
the spirits of the nature seemed uplifted,
and the gloom and the darkness departed.

The wanderer raised his head and looked heavenwards,
there was joy in his eyes and he was lost for words,
he fell to his knees, his mind no more misted,
and with peace in his heart, the tranquil morning his eyes feasted.