Trampling of becoming

The birds cry.

The sky breaks.

He sits,

soaked in memory,

smoking shadows

of what didn’t grow.

A whisper trembles…

not yet

not now.

He falls inward,

beneath the soft

trampling

of becoming.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

The makes me think of George Harrison of the Beatles when he went in search of himself, of his inner spirit...and it can be a very long road for sure.
j.

[hayzed]

Thank you j