Sometimes this thing we call life, can attach itself to you in ways you thought,
Perhaps,
Could not be.
Maybe you slip,
Maybe you fall,
or maybe your walk is perfect today.
Be it that simple or be this true…
My life has attached itself anew.
My path is but a cobblestone road.
Each rock, each pebble turns slightly as I stroll.
My feelings are peaking, and my eyes fill with strain.
But I walk and I travel…
Head tilts from the gravel.
But so far, and still yet, have I to find the stone.
All which in hand are,
Smooth in texture,
Thin in size
Weightless…
Perfect stones to skip, which leave little to no splash,
and although that would seem perfect,
Perfect will meet its match.
Dry and with grace,
A pattern of skips,
In their own place,
The further they go the more they displace…
But with my arms in stride with my shoes,
I walk down this road,
Not level but abtuse.
The sun will rise showing the steps I take,
And the moon will follow melding each stone, not a break.
So for now,
I write this riddle…
So for now,
I wait a little…
But as for now,
I feel inside, feelings which will surface as the road narrows.
Less space to hide.
With my approval,
And my need.
It will prick like a needle,
But a needle doesn’t feed.
Reverse this riddle,
A prick which I need…
Although I dither its feed.
