The Promised Land: a poem by Kev Reynolds

Kev shares a contemplative poem exploring the wonder and restorative power of a physical or even mental trip outdoors.

Tete aux Vents

The Promised Land

What is this land, this Promised Land, this land born out of dreams?

It haunts the hours of darkness –

but is it what it seems?

I hear its call, I sense its space and taste each gentle breeze

that rustles through its grasslands and puts me at my ease.

It’s marked on no map I have seen - this land of which I speak,

but it’s there, I swear, it does exist

yet no-one’s scaled its peaks.

No one has delved its wilderness, it’s fresh and undefiled,

it tells of Nature’s bounty, and everywhere that’s wild.

Out with Grandpa in the Raetikon Alps

It haunts, it hurts, this Promised Land, for I am here not there.

Is it mine to cherish, or mine to freely share?

I’ve nurtured every craggy ridge

on which the sunsets blaze

and known the pride of ownership for scenes on which I gaze.

Come join me in this Promised Land, it’s like my second home.

Set yourself free and take my hand –

together we will roam.

We’ll wade its icy waters, we’ll tread its fields of snow,

we’ll slumber in the meadows where only orchids grow.

Kev Reynolds

There’s nowhere like a Promised Land, a land devised by you.

It’s anywhere you wish to be,

yet still it could be true.

Do not deride its value when convention gets you down

for within a blissful moment it’s just waiting to be found.

I have my own sweet Promised Land, I’ll take you there right now

should your need be strong enough,

don’t question where or how.

Close your eyes, take one deep breath and all the world is yours -

a Promised Land, the only one – it’s found just out of doors.

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