Breadcrumbs

On the high table dishes waited under ornate silver covers.
The seekers moved among them and read the hand-calligraphed cards attached to the handles cast in the form of bathing nymphs and wreaths of fruit.
Fame. Love. Truth. Wealth
but all the dishes were empty
without even so much as a breadcrumb.

I pulled my Tarot deck from the box and all the cards were blank
except the Fool, who said Walk. Start now. Walk
and he smashed my crystal ball.

Once I followed a trail of breadcrumbs but all I found was a slice of bread.

The seekers pulled the linens from the tables and knotted them into a rope which they used to climb—
down from the window, or up, I forget which.
Sparrows came in and pecked about among the broken dishes.
You cannot live on breadcrumbs.

There was a dark wood and a dragon. There were no trails. There was no bread and no wine in the goblet on the silver salver
in the overgrown ruined chapel. There were trials. There were no crumbs. The seekers moved on.

Once I followed a trail of breadcrumbs but all I found were two lost children. The seekers moved on while I stayed to care for the children. We built a house out of bread, but it all ended in smoke from the oven. I moved on.

You cannot find the way into a mystery by following breadcrumbs.
There is a feast on the high table but all the dishes are empty.

--Sunday Scribblings: smorgasbord

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