the day begins with biscuits,
sausage and egg,
bacon egg and cheese,
it has become a Saturday
morning ritual,
part of the routine;
looking up,
the mountains call,
standing like ancient sentinels,
whispering like lovers
in the fading, forgotten mist,
beckoning you to travel
along their hidden trails,
a secret society,
a forbidden mystery,
but the growing pain
within your gut
says not today;
perhaps never again;
below, the James
gurgles and flows,
steady and rhythmic,
the frogs creak,
the daffodils bloom,
another spring awaits;
you think about
people and places
you have known,
you wonder where
they all have gone;
does a lifetime of mediocrity,
lessen a moment of greatness?
does not light shine
through the darkness, no matter
where or when it shines?
do careless words speak forever?
.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Your feedback is greatly appreciated