I see archeology of soul,
Knowing it is there to unfold
Some pick it up at seventeen and ride that river
Some wish upon a well at fifty and unearth
A spring combing back layers of dirt
The gray parting to see the beauty buried beneath
Starting over, bled a new color flowing to
A stretch unimagined and in a fraction of a day
It can all change, such assurance can dissipate
And blankets of fear can steer the boat
To islands of jungle land
No comments:
Post a Comment