poetry is best lived in
Theres a place I know, far from prying eyes and shielded from the outside world, protected, not by man but nature, pathway of the gods and rightfully so, a concave carved out meticulously over the centuries.
A dead end road with no name, no sign, not even a proper ending, just fleeting into a narrow meandering foot path, smooth volcanic stones thrown by the sea, palms sway, S curving the shore
intuition guides us, nudges us, pushes and pulls us into new horizons, elevating us, filling our sails with gale force winds
Theres no next time...
speak with fire on your lips, wish on every star, tramp a dirt road with no name, lay in the grass, hear the hymn of the wind rustle fronds, feel the clover between your toes, read a book...
let your mind run wild, fall into the absurdity, cultivate that dream, hold it, nourish it, step by step grow it...
And when your feet are bruised, ache, and your leather wears through, throw them to the side. Keep Walking...
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Mahalos Dina for sharing some heartfelt and personal words below:
