After
Weeks of
Endless
Iterations,
Grandmother decided that
Hell and Heaven belonged on
The same coin.
They are two parts of one whole, she declared,
Harboring malice
And disdain yet never seeing
The other.
After
Weeks of
Endless
Iterations,
Grandmother decided that
Hell and Heaven belonged on
The same coin.
They are two parts of one whole, she declared,
Harboring malice
And disdain yet never seeing
The other.

Cold air seeps into her skin,
chilling her blood, bones
creaking from the jostling car ride.
The forest stretches before her–
the trees transition from deciduous to coniferous
as the sky grows darker and the road longer.
A surge of past lives greet her on the way,
an emotionally intense experience
while travelling down the gravel road
that cradled the feet of hundreds of wayfarers before.
Each wayfarer, story
settling behind her eyelids like a motion picture–
but more tragic and more beautiful.
They all adventured to find truth,
as if capturing it would bring a new sense of warmth.
She searches too, but not as intently
for she understood a certain bias in her.
The search for truth,
as she saw it,
was difficult for we don’t always accept what is true.
Truth, ours
isn’t always the universe’s,
merely a fragment–
a glimmer of something honest.
Looking down at this dirt road,
a sister to the one that carried her here,
She feels a shift.
The dragonflies,
feeling the shift too,
soar beside her as she follows the path
of wilder things–
each one gliding,
accepting the truth of her.