it is painful
to walk barefooted
in this world.
.
.
.
it is painful
to walk barefooted
in this world.
.
.
.
I caved in
to the silence
of the cicadas
unwittingly waving
at the shadows
that peer through the
slivers of grass
or am I alive
or dead to the call
of the living?
.
it is lonely
where I dip
paddling to keep up
with the carps
tossing messages
into the river
in little capped bottles
hoping that
the living shall
read it?
.
and I may be alive
or I may be dead
but at least
my soul does not
live in disguise
nor are they
lonely
or weary
to the call of the living
which I dread..
.
.
.