Today was a day of odd weather. I awoke to snowflakes, spent the afternoon battling a crisp wind, and enjoyed the mildest temperatures of the day as I walked home this evening.

I find that weather, especially weather that boasts seemingly unbreakable walls of dreary clouds, is akin to poetry.

The longer you stare at the sky, the more you appreciate the vastness of the world around you.
And the longer you stare at a stanza on a piece of paper, the more you appreciate the vastness of your own personal existence.

So with that in mind, I have decided to post a piece of poetry today.
I wrote this a few months ago. It is about going home. Some people like to look at this as a quasi-religious soliloquy, as it does make multiple allusions to Christian dogmas. However, other people see a very different picture, a very different path that this poem takes.

I hope if you stare at it long enough, you'll find some sort of meaning in it for you.

A Gentle Golgotha 
By Ben Fouquette

Heaven awaits with a trail of dust to welcome me.
And an unpadded impact.

Headed towards a steam-braised pot of sauerkraut,
a pinched nose and no stomach for the occasion.

But a hug awaits at the end of the dirt road,
with an insolent Our Father on my lips.

I just step into open arms and hold my breath,
waiting to exhale, to inhale, to grasp my salvation.