We now walk hand in hand.
The sky is a melancholic grey,
Spattering the forgiving sand,
With raindrops.
When I was young,
We used to run far.
The wet unburnt glass pebbles,
Squished beneath our feat and,
Our hands gripped so tight,
That we swore our fingerprints,
Had mangled together.
After church on Sundays,
You'd pull me out the back door,
Grappling my arm, eager with excitement.
We'd race to shore,
Our toes squealing,
With the pinch of cold encased,
In the dosing rythmic tide.
I watched your every footprint,
Pressing my feet,
Into the path you left behind.
They were scrawny,
And a little too small.
But your kindness ment it didn't matter,
That I would always fall.
Yet, one day, we grew up.
The playground kids laughed at me,
For how much I loved you,
For how I said I wouldn't leave you,
For the way I said God, bless you.
They didn't know that,
We were a team, not two.
They didn't want to understand,
Just instead said you weren't true.
And at some point I began to believe them,
For how did I deserve you?
I broke your heart that day,
And our identity split,
My fingers break a new,
Skin raw and all my own.
Now we walk hand in hand,
Your sadness spilling down as raindrops,
On the glass that cut my feet.
Because even though I left you,
My grip more loose, less tight.
You still stay. You will protect me.
Through every wrong and right.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows
PoetryLife is constantly weighed down by its past. Every breath, every action, leaves an imprint of the world. The question is wether our memories will bring shadows upon our path, or will we ever simply stand in the sunlight?
