What comes from a walk,
Down a soft golden path,
The dead lunging for my foot steps,
The living for my laugh
With salted crystals under glass,
I ponder beyond belief,
Where was it I came from,
Are these my two feet?
There’s no denying the present,
When time passes this fast,
Of ignorance for certainty,
On this soft, golden path.
Let shade from the sun,
Determine my time and place,
Open horizons,
The foot prints left, melt away.
You can bring an umbrella,
If you want to come along,
Just over that hill .
There’s too much to see alone.
Comments
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What comes from a walk,
Down a soft golden path,
The dead lunging for my foot steps,
The living for my laugh
this is very cool-the whole thing has a vibe of fresh beginnings about it, and I love how it is the viewpoint not the view thats changed-well thats what it reads like. there is also something quite sinister, like the idea of rain, shade from the sun not sunlight, hints that the new direction may not be sunshine and roses but it still works..in a few different ways. Liked it.
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A gorgeous piece this is, you have captured such tenderness in this piece. Best to you in the contest
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