November PAD Chapbook ChallengeDay 30
are not carved in the bark of trees,
they are neither drawn in caves nor set in stone.
They are ships that drift into the endless sky;
frightened by the morning breeze.
are like withering flowers
stuck between the pages of dusty books;
they are healing bruises on a weary skin;
turning into pallid scars.
they are evanescent butterflies;
fading lines of letters to our aging selves;
burning leaves; pathways hidden in the wilds;
echoing through darkened lanes.
...and the strings of our hearts
still remember the old melody
with the lyrics written in the sand:
when we sing, when we play,
to the seashore comes the tide of times,
and the memories are washed away...