A crescendo of dictate forces
Building, swaying, titling
Praying …“don’t hang on, just let go”….
Road ever passing, the river flows….
The dust that turns to ash that turns to sand that turns to glass
The clawing and pining
….
the past that’s behind me
A broken heart
The breeze through the trees that stand vigil in the dark
….
the-beat-of-a-different-drummer
woodsmoke in summer
All the roads that end before they start
-Adam J Steele
