It was like this…

I was trudging alone
Pounding my footsore
In my blistering boots
Weaving my wonky way.

Every so often, I would veer carelessly
For my face to be
Clawed by a brutal bramble.

Now and then, I would stumble stupidly
Falling for my cheek to be
Speared by an unforgiving flint.

I did not see the pothole
I only felt my obliging ankle bending to its shape
Then the insane whiteness of pain
Then the swathing numbness of shame.

Lying askew
For the accusing sun
To bleach my kernel to dryness.

Lying askew
For the darkness of the sky
To mockingly mirror my blackness

Lying askew
For the frigidity of the earth
To diffuse the residue of my warmth .

Left with nothing
Only the blood and dust in my mouth.

If the moth had not brushed my face
With its gently caressing wings
I might not have upturned my crooked face
To the visionary light of that single star.

If the moth had not brushed my face
With its intensely caring touch
I might not have felt the cool light
Of the silver beaming moonlight.

If the moth had not brushed my face
With its compassionate whisper
I might not have witnessed the shocking
Startling splendour of the night.

I dance along this glittering path
Encrusted with exotic gems
Their names are foreign and unknown
But that does not detract from
Their iridescence, their incandescence
For me they shine for me
For me they speak to me
I see their facets refracting
Into unbeknown angles
The irrepressible light a myriad
Jutting its powerful lack of restraint

With grateful awareness
I tread with abandoned care
Along this ludicrous lane
Of twinkling stars
Of jewelled creations
This precious carpet of treasure
That spreads before me

I dance along this glittering path
Encrusted with exotic gems
In my gold sandled feet