A Walk to the Isle in the Marsh (Walk No. 10)

 

Is every walk a walk of death?

Across the marshes to the isle,

Traversing fears and passing ghosts,

To rise at last amongst the lost.

 

Is every site a monument:

A shrine to memory, life and love,

A locus for the wanderer’s truth,

A proof that we had meaning once?

 

Each walk may seem to set us free,

To live at last amongst the souled,

To feel the flow from earth to sky,

To be apart and yet to be.

 

I recognise the way ahead:

Each wondrous view will mark the dead.

 

 

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5 Comments to “A Walk to the Isle in the Marsh (Walk No. 10)”

  1. At first I felt a chilling path, as if souls of those before us
    were watch and try to lead us on.
    The thought of ghosts and hindsight was also comforting.
    We are not alone on our journey ahead and we do have to wander
    in the before and after!
    Clever I ❤ it!

  2. I agree with my daughter, I desire the “ten” in small, printed form to be carried on future backpack trips to be pulled out and read at rest stops.

  3. I find a walk to be perhaps my #1 source of creative inspiration and fortunately my dogs make sure I take one daily unless the weather is really forbidding. Nicely presented blog.

    • If only my cat would do likewise… sadly all she teaches me is how to sleep and how to beg food of Mrs Cheesewolf. Your blog is also a splendid hang-out!

  4. I dream of walking
    for I have no legs
    and like a ghost, wander here
    to and fro, a windless song
    lost among the brambles
    caught in wishful thinking
    prone to meandering
    listless;
    still
    like a frozen fog among the moor.

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