Tattered Robes of Royal Blue

Deep crimson and sterling silver can’t compare
To the Tattered Robes of Royal Blue
For the robes tell a story of a journey,
Undoubtedly singular in concept

Through windy days and rainy nights,
Bitter trails and starry skies,
It’s seen adventure incalculable

As for the wayfarer who carries it upon his back,
His mind simply races, and his feet hurry along
To the next mountain, river, and valley.

It’s only then, in moments of stillness,
When the grasses stay silent, and the sky stares transfixed,
That he turns to the Tattered Robes of Royal Blue.

And in the unraveling threads, he sees his life
And his mind moves from his small superficialities
To his greater mission.

Wordlessly, his gaze turns upwards
And his reaching grows to the sky
With closed eyelids, he begins to shift

The rhythm of life comes into focus
And for the briefest moment
There is nothing but One.

He shoulders his pack
As his steps begin to lighten
And the sun feels warmer.

Gratitude for the tale so far,
And resolve for the roads ahead,
The wayfarer smiles.

For this is the power.
Of the Tattered Robes of Royal Blue.

All poems Backpack