The Road, a Lenten Walk

by Christine Sine
Borders Road by DTL mf

Borders Road by DTL (Morguefile)

By Rowan Wyatt

Writing a poem about life’s journey can be problematic. After all, for some of us it’s been a long hard and painful slog, for others it’s been a joyful meandering, carefree and full of sunshine, for others still it is only just beginning. But we all share one thing, we are all on a journey and for most of us it will take a very long time.

The Lent period is a good opportunity to take stock of things, look at the route you are taking and if the road ahead branches or if you think you are on the wrong road, ask for help. It may come from an unexpected source Luke 10: 25-37 or a direct answer to prayer showing the road in glowing neon signs exactly when and where you needed it. Just ask, look and trust.

Recently I have become filled with the idea of a walking pilgrimage, maybe the Camino de Santiago, and after praying about it I felt impressed with the words ‘Solvitur ambulando’ which I found is translated as ‘it is solved by walking’. It was then this poem came back into mind, from my last book The Chase and other poems and as I re-read the words, the poem and the prayer made far more sense and I began to see exactly which road I was on. The way ahead is hard right now but I know soon my blistered broken feet will dance on lush green dew sparkling grass.

 

The Road                             R.R Wyatt

 

My feet hurt,

The soles are cracked and bleeding,

Stuck with thorns and broken glass,

And the path ahead looks worse.

 

The sky o’head is dark

Heavy, black and ponderous,

A pendulum in a grandfather clock

Waiting to strike the rain.

 

Rest my weary feet,

Sit by the side of the road,

In the dark and rain, surrounded on each side

By wolves, wearing wool, leering.

 

I am lost, floundering,

I am on the wrong road, and I suffer,

Trudging on through molasses and tar

Slowly getting nowhere, lost.

 

There is another path,

I have heard it said. The road gleams,

Paved in marble, smooth and cool on the feet,

Sun and blue sky overhead.

 

A clear route,

Straight and logical, with signs

But I can’t find it, know not where to look,

I need a guide but there’s no one here.

 

I could call for help,

But would I be heard, would my

Bloodied feet cause laughter and scorn or shame,

My rags a tattered state to be seen.

 

Fear of judgement,

And condemnation keep me on my path

Of bones, dust, pain and tears,

Till weariness fills me, and I feel a hand on my shoulder.

 

A guide, smiling,

Washes and binds my broken feet,

And clothes me in his robe and taking my hand,

Shows me the road.

 

© Rowan Robert Wyatt 2015

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2 comments

Cynthia Sinclair March 10, 2016 - 11:16 am

Beautiful and haunting…well done Rowan

Reply
Joy Lenton March 10, 2016 - 11:54 am

Beautiful poem, Rowan. There is so much here that I can relate to. And I love the closing lines:

“A guide, smiling,

Washes and binds my broken feet,

And clothes me in his robe and taking my hand,

Shows me the road.”

How we need our Guide and journey companion to sit beside us when we’re broken and wounded on the way. It’s such a lovely thought to have Jesus tenderly washing and binding up our sore and dusty feet, then gently wrapping His robe of wholeness around us. Thank you.

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