Christine Phillips Poet Narrative

The Trail

Heaven wakes with the sky and open my eyes; I could see everything around me and the trail, moving in front of me. I didn’t know which foot to put forward first, but I trust my heart to let it take me.

I follow the trail where it leads and my heart keep reminiscing with the breeze, I knew that I was going somewhere and there was no need to fear and so I examine the footsteps on the trail and measure the size of the shoes until my heart tells me what to do. It’s me and the footsteps on the trail but I know that someone was waiting for me when I get there, but it was me alone on the trail trying to get there.

I wasn’t running a mile relay and I had no baton to exchange at the end of the trail, but I felt like someone was waiting for me there. The trail was long and winding, but I kept on its path, hoping that someday the world will evolve out of the dark.

Perhaps the earth is not totally dry something is hidden beneath the sky. Weeds are springing up everywhere and there is no time to spare; I pluck them from the ground and the next day I see them springing up around, and water began to flood the town.

The wind is blowing around me, casting off the negative energy before me; hell is stirring a pot in the kitchen, and I can hear the singing from a distance and jubilation in the African jungle, the music was loud and the people start to shout, it had everyone moving on their feet and we knew that the game was over.

Take me to Casablanca to see the African bush doctor for I have an urgent matter. The trail is long but I want to join the crowd to sing the celebratory song. I want to float in the Atlantic Ocean and parade in big boats so open the canal and let the wind blow.

The trail is long so meet with me half-way and we will compose the final song. We will test it with the piano and violin and we will allow the birds to sing and then the symphony will begin. Meet me on the trail.

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