Saturday, 21 July 2012

Carving a Path

Touching tops
Of lifeless air
Saddened by the nothing that was there
Grasping on waterfalls
Of fields so bare

Once there was
Open land
Filled with jumping souls
Nothing much goes here
Looking up goblin heads
Hidden treasure bowls

As each piece of land
Is fed a fresh footstep
Almost awaking
What used to live there

Tired are the storys
That was once spread around
For all to share
Silence has once again
Fallen the mysterious air

Shaken braches
Clashing a drum
Of entertainment
Following us along
Whispering tales
Of who and where they belonged

Etching carved initials
Into bark seeping out
Here is their mark
That will someday
Draw an audience of interest
Of curious spark

As the grass opens up
To let us through
Wishing us on our way
Clock dandelions whisk off
Into the evening sky

Trying to catch one stem
If only for that single second
As the evening closes in
Time for a warm story to be sought  

No comments:

Post a Comment