Send the Answer

personal, yes, but hopefully doesn't take away from the enjoyment of it

The walking trail of my youth;

Forests, mountains, valleys, and fields,

So guided, nourished, and followed,

Writes my step with the seasons

Now forever past.

I met these written arrows with outstretched arms,

I welcomed the mindlessness of time.

The sun set each day and I, watching, did too,

Never understanding that to set,

You can’t return.

 

I sit on a trail from my dreams.                       [This is what I want.]

Mists cover it but still, I will not walk a life,

Or reality that betrays the dream, the reality

That clouds my head.              [I can’t prepare.

Now I’m frozen.]

Past the youth of this reality, I always look back

And try to understand where it came to be.

Who drew it for me? My hands must be clean,

I haven’t touched a single thing. I was mindless with time.

God I ask,

Were I to continue this endless trail,

Will I be able to see again?

Will I live to understand

These paths of which I know nothing about?

 

I see her,

The flower which rests in my garden,

A garden of the mists of my dreams.

She calls my name, I see a path,

She pulls me close, the mists are cleared.

She stands there,

And while I fight to move she holds tighter,

While I take my step she loses balance.

My flower, my sunlit angel I must help.

She mustn’t be of my trail,     [I found her in my dream.]

We walk together,

My path becomes brighter but I still don’t know,

Where are we going?

The mists are clearing and music is playing but,

Is this the reality?                    God I ask,

Send the answer.