Far Better Places

 
For a few days during the spring season
A scattering of the most beautiful flowers
The very ones he came to see so long ago
Down from the wooded hillside
And into a vast thorny bramble
Where those beautiful flowers bloomed

The deeper he went into that bramble
The further away those flowers did appear
Hopelessly lost and moving ever deeper
Scratched and bleeding, the seasons passed
Aside from a few days of beautiful flowering
The rest of his life was that thorny bramble

Scratched, bleeding, never to scab and heal
Those few days of beautiful flowering
Could never fully compensate for the pain
Hopelessly lost and moving ever deeper
Upon each painful morning awakening
He thought about far better places

Then came that morning, a new day of change
Having spent the stormy night in great pain
Extracting a long sharp spike of a thorn
That had found it’s way into his heart
Enough spilt blood to pen this poem
While traveling to far better places

Pen in hand, the blank page of a new day
Realizing no matter how dark and stormy
The sun will always rise each new morning
Following beneath the sun, ever westward
He was still lost, but not hopelessly
On his way to far better places

For long painful days and nights
He pushed on and rested upon thorns
They scratched and pricked his body
Yet no more did they pierce his heart
Extremely rough going through that bramble
A long painful journey to far better places

Then came that spring morning he awoke
Very near that vast bramble’s edge
Although he was tempted to turn around
To have a final look at those beautiful flowers
But open forest and fair meadows lay ahead
Vividly green and a riot of many wildflower colors

Stepping out of that bramble bleeding
From the long years of pricks and scratches
He wanted to laugh, but thought better of it
Wanting to sing, he instead listen to the birds
Wanting to cry, he had no tears to spare
He did however allowed himself a smile

Wandering aimlessly all that new day
Across fair meadows and through open woods
Leaving forever the bramble’s short flowering
Pricks and scratches scabbing over in healing
Memories of that bramble’s flowering fading
A mass of scabs, he could not forget the thorns

Across fair meadows and through open woods
Slowly healing and sometimes wondering
How he ever came to be in that vast bramble
And what could possibly be worth all that pain ?
But not dwelling upon it was far better
As that vast thorny bramble lay far behind

For each painful night spent in that bramble
He would spend another day leaving it behind
Crisscrossed with scars, but of a healing heart
Forgetting that bramble’s few flowering days
Never again to wake up in terrible pain
And think about far better places