“The Guardrail”
An old logging trail
of days gone by.
Treading methodically
reveals
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,
yet,
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
beyond
the guardrail.
For the guardrail knows,
He
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.
Go,
you must.
by J. R. Bonfanti
rundanceclimb 