Voyage of the Spirit
Copyright Bette Ridgeway Contemporary Art,
All Rights Reserved

days of passage

In the days of the strong
you and I
were still tensile flesh
cast in confident gold;
our voyage - dreams we would name;
Raising our confident sails,
tacking the wind at the world's edge
we cried laughter, lived echoes,
promised forever,
and named Future our offspring.

In the time of the journey
you and I'd
proudly measure
our wingspans as one,
taking turns in each other's sharp shadows,
staked our maps with the ends of the earth,
dreamed odysseys, wilderness, solitude,
scorned messengers,
practiced monologues and soliloquies
and raised Strife to troubled adulthood.

In the season of passing
we kept
contempt's company,
clawed to die daily;
Our worlds hungry for sacrifice
we'd thirst to oblige with each other,
cloak words in sharp symbols,
hide hands secretly washed,
and buried Hope's last soft breath
in the shadows of separate alibis.