the memory of a smile

the ones who guide have not seen all the map

but are so confident in their deep sense

of this old world that their most sharp intense

demand does not presage some sort of trap

and yet we fall the pain comes in a slap

we have been fooled there's no means of pretense

the shock is sudden and the hurt immense

and it will take a whole life to unwrap

the meaning that is hidden in the deep

caverns of time in which we now must hide

both pain and fortune still there is a while

between the losses and the hope we keep

where salves exist for both respect and pride

and in that space the memory of a smile

our certain arts

in the beginning the true word was fear

of both the sun and the restraining night

of lack of motion and of urgent flight

the rule was terror on earth and in air

so all would tremble and not one would dare

give voice to fervour  truth is not so light

upon our shoulders nor is human might

so sorely lacking that all must despair

when we are banded there's an end to shock

while sorrow must retreat before clear hearts

and terrors be forgotten once again

when we reject the foolish as they mock

our hard-won knowledge and our certain arts

of patience that beat wisdom out of pain

no certain cure

each stalks the other on the bitter edge

of hill and forest where the winter sun

sheds little warmth but hope enough to run

into dark trees just where the young birds fledge

right past the glades where the spring lovers pledge

up to the hills now when the hunt is done

the rest will know just what reward is won

and what has died upon the mountain ledge

there is a truth beyond all human gain

that we extract from every sacrifice

without regard to what each must endure

just to achieve it both the thrill and pain

that are the fullest payment of the price

and for the which there is no certain cure

the spaces in between

in the beginning words are what we make

to fill the spaces that fall in between

the known and human and the dark unseen

void that is home to dragon and to snake

that place of horror where the old gods wake

to force us all to say just what we mean

or else keep silence in that last unclean

home of our hopes there's no room for mistake

what we have found is that the ends are true

but all the roads that take us up deny

the honest vista that could salve the soul

permit clean breath or show one perfect clue

enough for even you to crush the lie

and so arrive at the long-wanted goal