About the Poem
This poem is a cross-section of my life, my soul, my history... perhaps also of yours. Read it, and perhaps see your own past - or your future.
|by Ted Reynolds|
The small boat tosses in the midst of a vast ocean.
The boy leans over the taffrail, listening.
Far off beyond that blue horizon out there
He hears a far, almost inaudible music,
Fascinating, compelling, calling to him to come.
It comes from somewhere he has never been,
But which he will reach someday, and recognize
As the source that has always been reaching for him.
It will show him, teach him, mold him in its image,
And he will never again be the same, but truer.
The young man stands before the mountain range.
Never has he seen these before, but he knows them.
Far at sea he has learned what to listen for.
Somehow he knows they will become part of him,
Their trails and crests, their hidden lakes and lairs,
Have waited centuries only for him to arrive,
So they could open their treasures to his soul.
Darkness and light, beauty and terror are up there,
And wait to embrace him when he reaches them.
He picks up his walking staff, and steps toward them.
Across the room the weary man sees a face.
The tiredness drops from him and he stares at her,
Hardly believing what he sees, what he feels.
He has never seen this person before,
But he knows she has been waiting for him.
She will teach him secrets, they will share treasures;
As friend or lover, tutor or mate, he cannot guess.
How can he know, how can he recognize this stranger?
The ocean and the mountains have taught him.
He moves toward her, speaks to her, and hears her voice.