Where The Winding Road Ends
During the past several days, my focus has been on things political, even as I complete the edit of my sixth novel and seventh book. My last ‘post’ was ‘An Open Letter to The President.’ Let me reiterate the fact that I admire and support President Obama.
Few can imagine the weight the president feels upon his shoulders. Yet, his supporters—and even his detractors who have some modicum of love for this country—owe it to America to desire his success. He has the potential to be a great president. But as I just ‘Tweeted’ (@GeneCartwright): Greatness is earned, not bestowed. Victory is seized, not granted.
Today, I offer a poem, ‘Where The Winding Road Ends,’ from my just released book of poetry: ‘Still Dreaming, After all These Years.’ I want to spur introspection about those things that matter to heart and soul; to encourage focus on the quest for purpose, and the pursuit of meaning in this all too brief life.
So, for the moment, set aside thoughts of the economy, politics, overdue bills, taxes, debt-ceilings, political rancor, world crises, and see only your inner horizon, and feel only the beat of your own heart.
Where The Winding Road Ends.
© Gene Cartwright
Where The Winding Road Ends
Who can say where the winding road ends,
where the dark night fades, and the light begins
to reveal the path to places unknown,
and the promise of harvest for seeds long sown?
Who can say where the winding road ends?
Who can say?
Who can say where the winding path leads,
where the cold heart cries, and the blind eye sees
the arc in the road give way to a view
that confounds the many and rewards the few?
Who can say where the winding path leads?
Who can say?
Teach me,
of leaves of gold, crimson and yellow–once green.
Inform me,
of naked branches and limbs laden with virgin snow.
Enlighten me,
of white ice that clings stubbornly to bending bough.
Humble me,
to glorious Spring that emerges triumphant,
then soon gives way, in the inexorable march of seasons
that ends where it all began, yet never ends until…
Who can say why the winding trail bends,
why the songbird dies, and the silence descends,
muting the eternal cries of countless lost souls,
leaving fools and the wise to only suppose?
Who can say why the winding trail bends?
Who can say?
Who can say where the winding road ends,
where the dark night fades, and the light begins
to reveal the path to places unknown,
and the promise of harvest for seeds long sown
but not forgotten?
Who can say where the winding road ends?
Who can say?