Of Blisters and Touches

Let me take this route,
A battered path
By generations of souls
The pavement is rough
Mine soles blistering

A voyage for the senses
When sense doesn’t exist
Like dogs baying at midnight
Praying for reprieve
Reprieve they ought to have

For a wandering soul
Without hope for rest
It is the absence of hope
That keeps them hoping for hope.
A chaotic cycle we live in

So trek ad infinitum
When vultures abound
Laying awake while a dirge is said
Soothing voices amidst mockery
A requiem for the living

So stop while you could
And lie still if you must
The earth breaths beneath
Every tremor is a groan
Every breeze is a smile

Let it go slow
Hues are recognized
By sight
Not by touch

Like heat that remains
When the last ember died out
The secret of the journey
Is not on the destination
It is by knowing the way.

Realized how to recognize
The rest would fall into its place

3 thoughts on “Of Blisters and Touches

  1. I love this part…
    “When the last ember died out
    The secret of the journey
    Is not on the destination
    It is by knowing the way.”

    Every journey is worth it because of what you’ve been through, and the challenges you’ve met and overcome. After all there’s no such thing as ultimate destination except for the end which is death… Therefore life is measured by the journey itself..

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