Your footsteps keep singing, underneath, from the past, deep away, they sing, i can hear the history that bounds us, while i walk the path, commendable lullabies, from deep under, emerging, as one story, as one heart, deep aside, emerging, thousand trails, thousand and a half.
My footsteps, albeit deemed transient fumes, keep on, going somewhere, they hold the scars of choosing life, albeit being, bleary survivorship, keep on, being the only cloud in this clear sky.
Today, the peace bestowed to us after our surrender, appears to be in dire straits, remote at times, but never forgotten. Today is already a tail-end, it will be for the better, to bite the dust, to obviate this grasp, to behold a new dawm, then prosify.