From Ash and Smoke

There is something about a camp fire
Smoldering through a cold Spring night
Which captures my mind and spirit.

I am taken back in time
To flint locks and ferry boat rides
Johnny cake lunches
knots and lashings
Lessons history teaches.

Like a river I traverse
Down hyperbole lane
Being cleansed in a bath of lye soap
The kind made of ash from a Black Swamp oak
And I am transformed.

Transcendent
I find a rhythm not my own
from legacies of hard work
Sweat and toil of a frontiersman's brow
and ladies wanton of big city finery.

Then, I return home and find a truth
that cannot be washed away
From smoke and ash a smell never leaves
my hair or clothing completely
It has sunken into my skin
and flows through my veins
to each hidden heart beat of my soul.

D. A. Wittler 2014

Road Weary

He walked a path to nowhere,
a road promising nothing but uncertainty.
He clung to an old rugged faith
passed down from unknown generations
of forgotten forefathers and mothers of long dead children.
But he could feel them coursing through his veins
like a river of earth transformed in bright living color
upon a blank page.

He was at home within his own skin,
but weary of the struggle
of dealing with hidden demons and self taught lies.
He longed for a happy ending
if only God would permit him to make it so.
And a question lingers,
would he remain a lost child forever?

D. Wittler 2014