Midweek, Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

In faith.

I have seen the faith of my forebears.

I saw it without knowing what I saw, a would not have understood had it been explained to me then.

Words to fill a void they must have been. Ideas to comfort those who have little to comfort them.

But I have watched years pass since then. I have seen my forebears go, one by one, to the ground, to the flame, to worlds and dreams to which there is no explanation to those yet to see or know them.

As I grow to become the forebear, and see before me eyes so young and certain, I see myself in the flesh and blood which comes from me. Perhaps I will in turn see the flesh and blood from them emerge as an even younger face than those I gaze upon now.

I have the faith of my forebears.

I show it without knowing if it’s seen, and I would not know how to explain it even if it would be heard.

Words to show a light from deepest dark, to remind that others have often gone through more which I had down. And that I in turn have seen and experienced worse than I would ever hope mine to see in life.

The symbols drift in and out of mind and view. Symbols which deeper meaning now than that one puts to word.

By the flame I sit, to cook, to warm, to see. With ghosts I am, from ages past, with whom I share my story. And while they share with my theirs from a memory spoken in my childhood, I prepare myself to teach my flesh and blood what life can bring and take.


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