The white lily
lines my path
on either side
of where I track.
Their snowy skin
glistens purely,
but what they hide
is what stays me, really.
I long for their beauty,
the way they reside,
with roots that hold them fast
and seem to never die.
They stretch on for miles-
an unyielding sight.
But they all look the same
and that is why I fight.
A path made of gravel
is a path meant to follow.
Roots can't take hold
and persistence takes bravado.
I question why I trek-
the reason I proceed,
and that's when I remember
that this trek is why I'm free.
I'm following this trail,
this never ending path,
because I want to stay free-
feel the world's wrath.
I want to feel the breeze
and know from where it comes.
I want to see the mountains
and climb each and every one.
Knowledge is power,
but dormant it must stay
when fear becomes present
to remain a certain way.
And so this is my journey
down this never-ending path,
knowing breezes and climbing mountains
as I continue to fearlessly track.

YOU ARE READING
Emanations Of The Heart
PoetryΞ if actions speak louder than words why is the pen mightier than the sword Ξ