shorter strides

The road seems longer the shorter it actually gets,

Each stride shorter, each breath harder to draw,

The one walking learns to live with the regrets,

And learns somehow to forget what he saw.

These old dreams repeat in teams, and before long,

They may fade away like the day of the road behind,

We may see the signs of stopping and turning wrong,

But we stare for, somehow, we want them to remind.

In the remembrance we have a belonging in the past,

Which cannot be lived out in the now,

Yet when the future seems somehow too vast,

We may wish to revisit the vow.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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