Shadow Catchers

I am the gift bestowed,
don't ask for me.
In their eyes you'll see shadows,
sleepy beings,
anxious to walk down the precious blue road.

I am the gift bestowed,
traveler elite.
Dance your dance,
with your heart laden heavy,
beating in time with the core of all things.

Hear the cry of sisters and brothers,
walking the thin lines of wretched yesterdays
echoing forever over unpardonable tomorrows.

See though you may,
the rhythm doles out its' infinite ripples
not to be measured by the passing of trains
that blow whistles of hope,
carrying bushels of this or that
from one dot to the next on the great map.

Fly with me, for I am the gift bestowed,
the teller of all tales.
A bird without wings
floating unimpaired in your dreams.
Passing through the penitentiary on the peninsula of your peace.

Don't look in the mirror
at the cracks of an era,
criss-crossing the surface of the worn out satchel
toting around the glimpses of tomorrows farewells.
Don't look in the mirror
save you want to see shadows
through me.