By M Teresa Clayton
Wait for the man who comes in the night
bowed by the weight of his lantern light.
You are lost and without the sense of sight,
this man has the power to make all things right
again. This man possesses a glorious power,
he can turn time around and rearrange each hour;
even the sweetest fruit can be rendered sour,
either stand in its shade or become the tower.
O the choices you alone must eventually make.
As you walk with him, count each step you take
to find your way home, should the man forsake
you. Be careful not to let all your promises break
and shatter before you like broken shards of glass
strewn among the leaves that lie upon the grass,
cutting your feet as you stay true to this pass
which will leads you to a narrow crevasse.
Ahead the lantern shines its light in the in-between.
No hint of the man anywhere or has he ever been?
Real or an illusion - whatever your eyes have seen,
this is the moment you decide if the two convene.
Will you stand at the precipice and fear the fall,
Hear the echoes below without heeding the call,