Small steps, tapping on the cool, cracked floor. Blemished walls and a seive ceiling encasing the treasure of the Slums. the walls and path baked in the sun all day and cooled over night, over many years this had been the cause of a network of cracks. Veins to a dead soul, they were. Shards of broken glass were scattered on the floor of a church as confetti to a wedding that had never been. Tears to a bride long forgotten.
Small steps take the longest to complete a painfull task. Small steps the most appropriate to the moment, frozen in time forever as a still photograph lost in a dusty camera. Small steps to big feet and a warm, yet shattered heart.
Small steps tap their way through a rotten door, plagued over the ages by families of pests, hollowed out and rotten, once lived in, now forgotten. A rusty hinge, almost all dissolved by the consuming desease that flakes away in bits, and in pieces, dropping like the sands of an hourglass, time ticking away, the last moment on earth.
Small steps, creaking, cracking, crumbling wood, stepping over islands of holes, wounds in the floor of the father's disremembered house. Overwhelming sadness to be spewn from the gaping holes, invisible volcanoes to rule one's emotion.
A ray of light, memory of hope dropping like a tear of joy through a hole in the ceiling, hitting the floor in a flurry of colour to be beheld by the one with small steps. Treasure to be looked upon only in a sickened old treasure house, true beauty beheld only for surroundings of ugliness.
Small steps taking big feet to forests of flowers. Silken petals, filiment of gold, anther crests drawing bees to pollen. Stems of emerald beauty, velvet hanging gracefully, weeping tears for a lost lover. Yet she steps.
Large steps echoing as a thousand ghostly whispers. Reflecting and refracting, distorting and returning to the worldly toes producing them. Energy flowing free, energy of love to fly away and retour twice as bold, thrice as strong, warm and life giving.
Large steps running wildly, fleeing a darkness unnamable, untouchable, indescribable, too terrible for any emotion, any words and soulless.
One doesn't hear, doesn't notice, too overpowered with grief, too close to suffocation by sadness, who shall murder, if he is given the chace. One about to give up, to let go of waking and slip into sleep. Two collide, and in a flurry two are one, in eachother's arms, together, and running. Running far. Running fast. Escaping the unnamable dark. Fled the hurt. Love rekindled, a glorious thing of many colours, texture indescribable, only experiancable. A fool's hurt and a wise man's joy. Adoration, admiration, aspiration, love.
Small steps take the longest to complete a painfull task. Small steps the most appropriate to the moment, frozen in time forever as a still photograph lost in a dusty camera. Small steps to big feet and a warm, yet shattered heart.
Small steps tap their way through a rotten door, plagued over the ages by families of pests, hollowed out and rotten, once lived in, now forgotten. A rusty hinge, almost all dissolved by the consuming desease that flakes away in bits, and in pieces, dropping like the sands of an hourglass, time ticking away, the last moment on earth.
Small steps, creaking, cracking, crumbling wood, stepping over islands of holes, wounds in the floor of the father's disremembered house. Overwhelming sadness to be spewn from the gaping holes, invisible volcanoes to rule one's emotion.
A ray of light, memory of hope dropping like a tear of joy through a hole in the ceiling, hitting the floor in a flurry of colour to be beheld by the one with small steps. Treasure to be looked upon only in a sickened old treasure house, true beauty beheld only for surroundings of ugliness.
Small steps taking big feet to forests of flowers. Silken petals, filiment of gold, anther crests drawing bees to pollen. Stems of emerald beauty, velvet hanging gracefully, weeping tears for a lost lover. Yet she steps.
Large steps echoing as a thousand ghostly whispers. Reflecting and refracting, distorting and returning to the worldly toes producing them. Energy flowing free, energy of love to fly away and retour twice as bold, thrice as strong, warm and life giving.
Large steps running wildly, fleeing a darkness unnamable, untouchable, indescribable, too terrible for any emotion, any words and soulless.
One doesn't hear, doesn't notice, too overpowered with grief, too close to suffocation by sadness, who shall murder, if he is given the chace. One about to give up, to let go of waking and slip into sleep. Two collide, and in a flurry two are one, in eachother's arms, together, and running. Running far. Running fast. Escaping the unnamable dark. Fled the hurt. Love rekindled, a glorious thing of many colours, texture indescribable, only experiancable. A fool's hurt and a wise man's joy. Adoration, admiration, aspiration, love.