Every journey
carries
its own arrival
folded inside
what it first
let go.
A stone kept
the other pocket.
The skip
noticed neither.
A bridge
pretends
to be its arch.
The span,
hung in chains,
remembers.
The ladder
offers
one rung
to tomorrow,
one
to yesterday.
Both feet
know.
The escape hatch
grows lighter
without opening.
The room
learns
its counterweight.
The kite
believes
the string
is holding it.
The string
believes
the wind.
Neither
touches the sky.
The grandfather clock
unwinds
its weight
until
the floor
begins to listen.
One day
the other pocket
forgot
its stone.
The hand
didn't.
-
Author:
John Richard Anderson (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 22nd, 2026 11:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: A.N.
Offline)
Comments1
I like this one there seems hidden meaning in this write with an underlying meaning in some of the lines such as the last where the hand did not forget the stone. Well done
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