Puddles

Stucco walls with gold leaf facades, colliding with cobblestones and water. Puddles have now become the place, dreams and fantasies come across a border.

Walk

I do not walk ahead, I do not walk behind. I am here to walk beside.

Us

What words will they write?
How will they tell our story?
How will they write us?

Fields

Days may be dull, clouds casting their shadows of grey. With my field of gold, I have no care if they stay.

Them

It was them
I reached for the sky
It was them
That knocked
Me to the ground
With me
It will always be them.

Without

Without leaves
Without branches
Without the trunk
Without roots
The tree
Would not be
A tree.

Stay

No climb too steep
No cloud too grey
No path too rough
If with me, you stay.

The Observers

You do not see the ones who live to feel and to think, to satisfy these passions it is all consuming.

They

Crashed
And they crashed again
Ending
Where they had once begun
Smoothed
By time into cultured plains
Now
All I ask is they be left undone.

A Moment

Do I know you? No, not at all. You bring the serenity to a moment, that is all I know.