Between Yesterday’s Sorrow And Tomorrow’s Dark Doubt
Justin O. Smith

This is a story as old as mankind, as every person since the beginning of time has had choices to make and battles to wage from within and without, against himself, the elements and those who try to enslave him or suppress his natural right to freedom and liberty.

In the 20th and 21st centuries we have seen our own government commit egregious and unwarranted acts of violence against so many Americans, whether we look at Waco, Texas, Ruby Ridge and the assassination of Vicki Weaver or the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge standoff and the assassination of LaVoy Finicum.

January 26th marks the 10th anniversary of LaVoy’s murder at the hands of Oregon’s Highway Patrol and FBI Special Agents, in an ambush style attack on Highway 395 in 2016. ~ J.O.S. 

Life’s Fork in the Road

There’s a man I’ve watched from afar in the gloamin’, A rugged old cuss with a fire in his eye, He’s trudged through the years like a Yukon prospector, Moilin’ for gold ‘neath a pitiless sky. Once he was young, with the world for his oyster, Laughin’ and lovin’ in the wild, carefree days, But time’s cruel river has carved out his channels, And left him adrift in a cold, misty haze.

He stands at the fork where the tall timber darkens, One trail leads back to the homefires of yore, Where memories gleam like the gold in the gravel, Comfortin’ warm, but a heartache in store. He knows every twist of that old familiar pathway, The joys and the sorrows, the triumphs and falls, But goin’ back now? It’s a ghost town of echoes, Where the laughter rings hollow in them empty halls.

To the left is the past, with its glories and blunders, A cabin he built with his own calloused hands, Where he danced in the moonlight and sang with the wild wind, Free as the eagle o’er untrodden lands. He lived for the simple – the crackle of campfire, The smile of a woman, the bark of his dog, No meddlin’ from strangers, no chains from the mighty, Just livin’ and lovin’ through sunshine and fog.

But the world crept in like a thief in the night-time, Governments schemin’ with their taxes and rules, Buttin’ their noses where no man invited, Turnin’ free souls into obedient fools. They promised him safety, but stole his wild spirit, For their own greedy gain and their power-lust thirst, He fought like a grizzly, but the chains kept a-tightenin’, Till his heart near exploded with rage and with hurt.

So he turns to the right, to the unknown and shadowy, The future that beckons with promise untold, Full of possibilities, bright as the dawning, But treacherous trails where a man might grow cold. What if he stumbles? What if he gets lost there? In the thickets of doubt and the swamps of despair? No familiar landmarks, no old friends to guide him, Just the howl of the wolf and the chill in the air.

He tries goin’ left, back to them golden memories, But the past ain’t the same as he left it behind, The faces are faded, the stories are painful, Old wounds reopen, and peace he can’t find. The glory is tarnished, the freedom is phantom, It hurts too damn much to relive what was grand, For what’s a man’s past without facin’ its demons? Just ashes and echoes scattered over the land.

Then he veers to the right, chasin’ dreams in the distance, But the future feels empty, a barren frontier, No roots in the soil, no warmth in the hearthfire, Just endless horizons that breed only fear. What’s tomorrow without yesterday’s lessons? What’s laughter and love if the heart’s still in chains? He’s trapped in the middle, a soul torn asunder, Battlin’ himself through the storm and the rains.

Ah, but truth comes a-whisperin’ on the north wind, There’s only one path for a man to be whole, It’s straight up the mountain, rough, rocky and steep-like, Through the brambles and blizzards that ravage the soul. He must wrestle the ghosts of his formerly glorious, Work through the pain of the chains that still bind, Face down the meddlers, the thieves of his freedom, And forge a new self in the fire of his mind.

It’s a climb that’s uphill, with the sleet in his whiskers, He slips and he tumbles right back to the start, Thinks he’ll never summit, never taste that pure freedom, The laughter, the lovin’, the beat of his heart. But glimpses he catches of the peak in the sunrise, So beautiful bright that it steals away breath, A life lived unfettered, no agendas to hinder, Just him and his Maker, defyin’ old death.

He falls to the bottom, bruised, battered and bleedin’, Feels like surrender is the only wise play, But deep in his bosom a spark keeps a-burnin’, The will of the wild that won’t let him stray. Then kindred souls find him, fellow trailblazers, Who’ve battled the same in this cold, heartless game, They haul him upright with a grip strong as iron, And together they climb, callin’ each by his name.

The path grows clearer with each weary footfall, The burdens grow lighter when shared in the strife, They laugh ‘round the campfire, tell tales of their triumphs, Love fierce and true in the raw edge of life. No government lackey can butt in their business, No agenda can chain what the spirit sets free, For the best version rises from ashes of struggle, A man reborn wild as the wind o’er the sea.

And so he arrives at that long-sought-for mountaintop, Breathin’ the rare air of a soul unchained, Lookin’ back down on the trails he has conquered, The past reconciled, and the future reclaimed. He laughs with the thunder, loves deep as the river, Lives free as the moose in the vast northern glen, No more trapped between yesterday’s sorrow And tomorrow’s dark doubt – he’s the best he can ken.

There are strange things done ‘neath the midnight sun By men who moil for the gold of the soul; The inner trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run hot or cold. But the queerest of all is the man who prevails, Who works through his past to claim freedom’s bright crown, For only by climbin’ that hard, uphill pathway, Does he stand tall and free when the sun goes down.

 

Justin O. Smith Has Lived in Tennessee Off and on Most of His Adult Life, and Graduated From Middle Tennessee State University in 1980, With a B.S. And a Double Major in International Relations and Cultural Geography – Minors in Military Science and English, for What Its Worth. His Real Education Started From That Point on. Smith Is a Frequent Contributor to the Family of Kettle Moraine Publications.

 

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