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They move, over darkened floors,
under bright blue skies,
as they move to so many closed doors,
for a life that is only worth having,
if the doors are opened, at risk of fire,
and hurt, that is healed by a forgiving
touch, of a wanted skin, or are opened,
and you ride into delirious sunrises,
but the doors remained closed,
and the steps untaken,
so you site and write prose,
and think, to yourself, what if,
what if, the footseps were taken,
you want it. But the cliff,
it awaits, for a fall or a graceful dive,
for all ends up at the bottom,
and only footsteps decide how you get there.
under bright blue skies,
as they move to so many closed doors,
for a life that is only worth having,
if the doors are opened, at risk of fire,
and hurt, that is healed by a forgiving
touch, of a wanted skin, or are opened,
and you ride into delirious sunrises,
but the doors remained closed,
and the steps untaken,
so you site and write prose,
and think, to yourself, what if,
what if, the footseps were taken,
you want it. But the cliff,
it awaits, for a fall or a graceful dive,
for all ends up at the bottom,
and only footsteps decide how you get there.
There have been no replies to this thread yet.
They move, over darkened floors,
under bright blue skies,
as they move to so many closed doors,
for a life that is only worth having,
if the doors are opened, at risk of fire,
and hurt, that is healed by a forgiving
touch, of a wanted skin, or are opened,
and you ride into delirious sunrises,
but the doors remained closed,
and the steps untaken,
so you site and write prose,
and think, to yourself, what if,
what if, the footseps were taken,
you want it. But the cliff,
it awaits, for a fall or a graceful dive,
for all ends up at the bottom,
and only footsteps decide how you get there.
under bright blue skies,
as they move to so many closed doors,
for a life that is only worth having,
if the doors are opened, at risk of fire,
and hurt, that is healed by a forgiving
touch, of a wanted skin, or are opened,
and you ride into delirious sunrises,
but the doors remained closed,
and the steps untaken,
so you site and write prose,
and think, to yourself, what if,
what if, the footseps were taken,
you want it. But the cliff,
it awaits, for a fall or a graceful dive,
for all ends up at the bottom,
and only footsteps decide how you get there.