The Chariot – A Poem

I’ve been living

with stones of

the past weighing

me down. I’ve

been carrying them

with me for too

long a time.

Some are large

and made from

metal, others are

jewel bright and

catch the sun.

Others still are

made from wood

or glass. Each

of them is

covered with something,

an image that

represents that part

of the past

weighing me down,

holding me back.

The chains or ropes

attaching them to me

chafe at me, raise red welts

on my skin.

I stand on

the street, looking

to the sun

when I see one

approaching me. It

stops in front

of me and

I notice the rider.

He looks a

little like me

and holds the

reins to three beasts

that pull his chariot.

“Want to come aboard?”

He asks me.

“Yes, please.”

He shakes his

head, the sun

glinting off of

his armor like

little bits of sun.

“You can’t go forward with all that weight. How do you even walk?”

I bristle slightly.

“I manage just fine.”

He looks at

me and I

see something in

his eyes, something

familiar. He nods.

“Come on then, if you must.”

He holds out

his hand and

helps me up.

The Chariot begins

to move, but

slowly, so slowly.

“In order to move forward, you’ll have to let some of that go.”

I look at

my weight and

choose the heaviest

ones, untie them

from me. Others

with metal cuffs

holding them to

me click apart

and they fall

away behind me

on the roadside.

We move faster

now, the Chariot

gathering speed. I

look at the

stones that are

left. They are

smaller but some

of them are

the heaviest. I

hold them up

to him.

“What about these?”

He looks at the stones.

“What about them? You will either let them go or hold on to them. Only you can decide to be free.”

I nod, almost

knowing what he

would say to me.

I release the

other ropes and

cuffs and the

stones fall behind

me, clattering on

the pavement. The

marks and burns

still remain though.

“Those will go away in time.”

He says, kindly.

“For now, they will remind you of how far you’ve come. Remember, we are not defined by our scars.”

We travel on

for a while

until I ask him:

“Where are we going?”

He regards me

and then smiles,

handing me the

reigns. He begins

to fade and

something in me

feels fuller, more

bright. I finally

recognize him as

myself, the me

I dreamed of being.

“Forward. Go forward, don’t look back.”

When he is

completely gone, I

am holding the

reigns and can

feel the bright

sun on my

armor, turning me

into a sun.

“Forward.”

I whisper.

“Forward.”