Winding Path, Whispers Sweet – Nils Hiddink

Winding Path of stripes threefold, one high and two stripes low

Does cross hill and peak above, and stream and depth below

Of eternal twist and weave, of no beginning, of ending far

Of dents and holes, of prints and pieces, of memory and scar



Soreness in feet, fatigue in legs, and eyes seeing naught

Journey long, struggle fierce, battles to be fought

Naught He had to call himself, no name of ancient men

No name bestowed by others, by family or clan



Walk He did, and march, in light and then in dark

Yet stars were not, nor sun, nor fire and nor spark

His gaze above viewed naught, but yellow and but red

His feet below sensed naught, but path that he did tread



Yet aught there was then thereupon, a shadow in the black

That carried over shoulders golden horn and silken sack

In the right there was a rose of red, of joy and no constrain

From the left did flow rich coin in fair and golden rain



“O, wanderer,” spoke Rose And Horn, in voice clear and sweet

“Needn’t you soft bed to sleep, or bread, or fruit to eat?

You need but ask, and all of this on you I shall bestow

You need but step on path of mine, devoid of pain and woe



Here, comfort, plenty, passion, and pleasure you shall find

If only you would break your chains and undo all your binds

Here, fabrics, fruits, bread, and soft flesh you shall know

If only you would leave your path and claim what you are owed.”



And long He did, for bed and sleep, for warmth and too for bread

To gently lay His tired mind, to rest His feet that bled

Forth He tread with eager, holding out either hand

And Rose And Horn bestowed on Him what he then did demand



Gold was warm, Rose was fair, and Horn did overflow

Sack came undone and Sugar fell, like sweet and shining snow

Yet when He reached, then Gold did burn, and Rose did sting His skin

Horn buried all beneath its wealth, and Sugar salt akin



For breath He struggled, for air He clawed, yet neither did He find

As all that for which He wished did so smother Him in kind

But when He then sank deeper into dark yet fiery land

So did He feel around his wrist bloody fingers, and course hand



And as He saw then once again, He looked upon his grace

In the right there was a dancing light, of Beacon bright ablaze

In the left here was a single Bowl, bare, of cracked wood

And weathered face was hidden under dark and dusty Hood



Hood And Torch did not then speak, no words did she then share

Yet ancient eyes held wisdom, and urging in their stare

Then thereupon did He breathe deep, in courage that He hath

And once again He tread upon his long and mortal path



Strong was spirit, sharp was gaze, and e’er quick was stride

And blind were eyes to shadows at Winding Path’s besides

To shapes that yelled or spoke so sweet, behind the wooden fence

That stood upon the smoothest roads, devoid of scars and dents



Walk He did, and march, through light and then through dark

Guided by warm sun, soft moon, by dancing spark

His gaze above viewed all, clear blue and comely white

And feet below sensed all, low grass and pebbles slight.




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