Road From Haran Poem by Frank Witte

Dusty winding pathways outstretch my eyesight,
for I have been on this road before.
And I promissed myself; never more
to get caught in such a terrifying plight.

Your face still in my eyes,
encapsulated deep inside.
It is you who I see
as I lay myself to sleep

Struck by horror unseen to the naked eye,
having battled this demon before.
At this river of internal war,
where either I grow or else so do I die.

Your voice still in my ears,
incarcerating fears.
It is you who I hear,
as I try to stay clear.

I know a dark angel is awaiting me,
as with God I struggled before,
it is not just legend and lore;
this river I must cross so as to be free.

Your touch still on my skin,
keeping me almost sane.
Am I to you inane,
as I try to keep from sin?

Silhouette approaches from the river's bank,
I have been killed before,
except my inner core,
where I have remained human, free and frank.

But if I lose your call
I will desintegrate,
None will resuscitate
and all I'll do is fall.

Bleeding in the soil, stretched out to me a hand,
standing up once more,
the future has in store
journeys and turmoil on the road to Haran.