Stories

Along the pilgrimage path
life purged and plundered
minds wept and wondered  
weeds steadfastly grew  
knowing not what we now knew  

weary travelers groaned and grumbled  
stepping cross wayward stones, tumbled  
some had stumbled or even fell  
seeking separate stories to tell  
  
ink driven, dried up, cursed, then forgiven  
bent in half, twisted, some curved  
tales told, valient bold and self served  
where whispers turned and ran  
down alongside stolen scripts  
falling elegantly off loose lips  
masses cheered the absurd  
romantic scenes poetically heard  
  
death defied and defiled  
joyous celebration in a time  
infectious an emancipation  
liberated through rhyme lest relief  
 "To weep is to make less the depth of grief"