Onward to the best not spoken,
When every vestige of pride becomes a prayer –
And the sadness of God is manifested
In the emancipation of collective doubt.
For this is destiny, prescribed and guided
Along the silken roads to glory –
Such is talk, as whispered in the shadows
O’er these lush and never-ending meadows,
Rolling long between the valley and the sea –
Where great machines adjoined in harvest
And the conflagrated ancient forests
Are rarely seen.
What is this man who’s looking back
From a rainbow-slickened oil reflection
As we walk along a wounded shore?
Go ye to the best not spoken,
In that place of texture, love, and compassion –
To His open arms that wait eternally.
In the liberation of dreams once repressed,
In an overdue confession –
Onward to the silver roads of glory.
Such is love, this field of thorny roses,
By the great river - onward, onward she courses;
When every soul becomes a crimson petal
Released to the mercy of the blowing breeze –
To drift along the winding valley
Across a mystery.
Kelly Vinal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/best-not-spoken/
