Fresh Manna

I looked up and I had fallen again. What's waiting is so fresh. Fresh like the manna sent to sustain. Fresh like the water of a happen upon brook. Youth doesn't know this place. Days past has taught me to welcome what's before me and leave the questioning to those still looking for missing pieces. The discovery isn't as difficult as the journey. The bitter only taste sweet at the end. Still I found pleasure along the way. Reflecting on the detours causes me to pause for a smile. The kind one gives when he knows the secret to the puzzle. You wonder who is privy to this link. You search the eyes of others looking to see who has made the discovery. You would share it but you know those yet to began will not care to listen. Listen to your tales of fallen over and over again. You stand by and watch the torment they will undergo while you taste the sweetness of the manna now melting on your tongue.

Peace doesn't come in a bottle it has to be something you slide into like a pair of shoes. With every step you become more confident. At first, the ground seems as if you're standing on ice. The taste of peace seems as if it belongs to someone else. You're not sure who exactly, maybe the people who testify about it. You on the other hand search for it it. After you learned how to walk across the river you look for it under every stone.

Peace takes the sting out of your tears and makes you smile at the evil doer. You wait to see when they are coming down stream. You won't trouble the waters--there are others standing in line. You just wave as they pass by chanting words and carrying the sign of peace.