Descent

Death valley stretches

before me, endless, parched,

lifeless. I seek escape and scan

the horizon for other routes.

Streaks of rose and gold gild

morning’s slow wake. Tiny in my eye,

purple mountains in the far distance

blend against the scarlet sky—a perfect

seam between heaven and earth.

There must be another road

around the arid, the ever suffocating

desert… north, south, east west—

nothing.

I want to build a bridge,

a breezeway over the wasteland.

Any pathway but pain. I hate death

and the suffering that hides

in the roughed road.

A shudder sweeps my soul

as I take the first step,

down into the dry—down into the depths.

Yes,

there is no bridge here, but

as I embrace the unknown and

open my mouth wide

with thankfulness—not

resisting the obedient

sacrifice, there is no

sting as I press forward.

The descent proves

He tasted death for me.

Clothed in purple like a king,

the thistle rises to meet me, and

the eagle soars above.

© Bonnie Saul Wilks

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