I walk a narrow road,
not earth, not sky,
but the quiet space where shadows
learn the shape of light.
I want the climb,
the love, the fire,
the sweet illusion of forever,
yet I know each flame
is only smoke in memory’s lungs.
The world applauds masks,
but I am weary of costumes.
I crave the small, secret joys,
the ones that ask for nothing
but my own pulse,
my own breath.
Here, in the in-between,
I do not rise for monuments,
nor bend for applause.
I bloom for myself,
a tree with roots in silence,
leaves that fall unseen.
If the dead wait behind me
and the living call ahead,
I remain here,
not lost,
just choosing
to be.
-
Author:
Necky (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 22nd, 2025 05:37
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, sorenbarrett, Lorna
Offline)
Comments3
great write, enjoyed
thank you for reading ❤️❤️❤️
most welcome
This poem occurs in the inbetween of life and death, earth and sky, being and not being and in this void comfort is found in a pause. Lovely
thank you for enjoying it ❤️❤️❤️
You are most welcome
Love it...........
thank you for reading ❤️❤️❤️
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