The Guardrail

“The Guardrail”

An old logging trail

of days gone by.

Treading methodically


an unexpected treasure.

Rust-spotted and winding

a guardrail

that has no business being there.

Seemingly questioning,

wondering if this was the place

where couples parked in the 50’s

to share stolen moments

overlooking the lake.

Out of place,


maybe not so.

It beckons you alluringly

to press forward,

beyond its bones.

Here,” he whispers,

all crackling and tinny,

Come see the treasures

that lie ahead…”

You find yourself asking,

Is this really the way?

over its weathered, metallic body

engulfed in long grass,

windswept and aged?

Is this really the way?

Yes…yes.” they, too, breathe

between their wheat-hued blades.

Go, you must

to the place where the guardrail lives.

Climb over his old bones,

Be guided

by the trodden path before you.

Treasures are there,

carved by strong waters,

protected by frozen waves.

A soulful silence wraps you

up in its blanket of

honesty and freedom.

Listen to the whispers


the guardrail.

For the guardrail knows,


is the gateway

to replenishing waters,

healing bluffs,

unspoken truths full of peace.

Go, you must.

To the guardrail,

that seems to have no business being there.


you must.

by J. R. Bonfanti




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