Appearing out of the mist, like a wraith, an iron cross sits atop a monolith. Thrusting upwards through a mountain of stones, it points to the heavens, saying “come, lay your troubles at my feet.” And every stone or bauble or trinket, placed there by a weary traveler, holds a lifetime of burdens, willingly surrendered, offering a new beginning. Like the petals of a rose, one by one, my troubles wither and fall to the ground, there to be rendered unto dust by time and wind and rain.
Published by Bud Pierce justplainbud
Hi, I'm Bud! I'm an old guy that not too long ago decided I would attempt to document my childhood, write a few short stories, and the occasional poem. I really hope this works out for me! View more posts