God Is My Sherpa

These paths go everywhere

The guide has turned back

And the snow is blinding

Our feet are uncertain and leaden

And the lightning whispers

Portents of doom and promises

Of flowers only at the end

Of one road travelled lightly

So we tiptoe amongst the howling wolves

Keep our eyes on our toes

Which path-taken feet nimble with

Over ledges with crackling static fire

Bursting our toenails hooves of tiny horses

Scabbling up the rock-strewn paths

Go everywhere

The guide has turned back

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Sandy Cowan's picture

This poem is a fine one, but, it has to be said, that what I was taken by was the title - almost a one line poem in itself. God is my sherpa - very handy when all the green pasture for being layed down in lie down there below the snow line.


hawksquaw99's picture

excellent read.... loved it .... kept me on the edge of my sit so to speak.... what a picture you can create from words...