A dulling road of old grey stone and dirt dust
do I walk once upon the break of day
and once more upon the setting of sun.
No detail hath gone unaccounted, for my
younger eyes have drawn their silhouette
so oft I shall recall them in my greying years.
Yet, as my mind slips from dreary wakefulness
to slumbering peace, I see new paths weft
by all the beauty imagined in what dreams
Wood trails weaving one into wandering
forests of fir and pine, pondering what
lie around the stumps of spruce or behind
the hems of hemlock needles. The bough-border
of the forest curling around thy wandering soul
and causing thee forgetfulness to what lay outside
the hidden secrets of the fir-wood.
A cairn-marked path winding through
fields of gleaming green grass kissed with
morning dew and dotted with dandelions
and daffodils gold as the sun is bright.
Hills obscure what stay behind as oceans of brilliant
new fields lay waiting for thy coming evermore.
The red-lane lined with roses bleeding into
hearts impassioned by the hand of one unseen.
A swelling of emotions all emblazening the way
with flowering affections drowning the senses
in a confusing well of glee. Faceless yet fair is
the company alongside, unknowing yet trusting
in the validity of whom the veil of time may reveal.
Upon the wakening of myself from stupor,
do I walk that same old way I have time immemorial:
A dulling road of old grey stone and dirt dust,
despite the dire dreams of something more.
yousharknotpass
ellievsbear
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
theartofmadeline
