That pathA Poem by marlayesterday
That Path
The dewdrops sing a chorus mean, of silver, on beds of vivid green, and I notice a trail. A slug's path winding, and frail. I must follow this path you see, I know it leads to a place I'd like to be. Delicate, soft, tip-toe trudge, not wanting to mar snail's imprinted sludge. For if I molest this crooked mark, it may disappear, gone, in this sleeping park. Lazy sun yawns upon my face, a drunk pull in my mind, this fog-hazed place. Ever keeping my eyes on the way ahead, it leads me on this path it bled. Sleepy tinged air all around, I try to stay awake, upright, aground. Further and further and further it goes, into the dark woods, this path, it glows. Eyes mercilessly glued to the line, if I tarry onward, all will be fine. Cool branches beckon, sway, creak, I'm unable to breathe, my knees, weak. Gulping in life, I enter by the bushes, this call to me won't leave, onward it pushes to a sharp left and then an opening, a pulsing again. With each step I have taken, awkward dreams begin to awaken, or are they memories I am not sure. As I follow sluggish trail, on this forest floor, no twigs seem to snap, no leaves give a rustle, not a move, not a sound, no normal woods bustle. I walk for miles and miles it seems a memory, a chance, a chase of dreams. Fragrance of laughter, loss and despair on this meandering, slithering path to nowhere.
© 2012 marlayesterdayAuthor's Note
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7 Reviews Added on August 26, 2012 Last Updated on August 26, 2012 AuthormarlayesterdayLAAboutI write, that's all there is to it. I enjoy experiencing life. My thoughts are stories. I read, I cannot bear an ill written book. My favorite authors are Jane Austen, Stephen King, Francine Riv.. more..Writing
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