“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, December 15, 2019
The beaten path
Curses
lain across footfalls
shadowing
the marked path
Treacherous crags
protrude guilty edges
into skin
under brittle nails
The way weather exposes
the external
and tries to wash away
shine with light
Circling eternally,
erosions never cease
such as this
degradation of morality.
The darkest parts
are tethered to these heavy
steps
Taken
for fugitive
methods of moving gifts.
A body spent is
a blessing saved
for another way.
High noon
obscured only our difference
by degrees,
illusory of our self-images,
and how much distance
must be made
to be come
one with a same
destination.
Too late
to take back
steps.
Any other way
could not have been
more direct.
Photo credit: Carol Highsmith, taken 2015 in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, USA.
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