"Broken Stones on Crooked Roads"

by Brian G. Daigle

​Broken stones on crooked roads 
Under feet with calloused toes,
Hold up brittle body and bones. 
Inside sits a heart of gold;
Atop, a cathedral of stone. 

No pot hole swallows.
No stumble thwarts. 
No ache inhibits the journeyman. 
Neither do storms rattle transcendent faith.

Clear skies do smother 
A memory full of “It will be well,” 
Engulfing a sun to orient eyes blazed. 

Lively songs in chorus round 
Companions ragged but true. 

“Rage or Sing,” the Muse once offered your plot.