Beneath ambition lies a bone ridden corpse
tossing around in its cell.
On the tree of empathy there are
the parched roots below it,
reaching further into the soil for its
share of the earth.
And inside the windows of these hundred houses
are faces I may never see.
Comforting like the warm moments called “spring”;
I know that I may never see the whites of their eyes
or know the first letter of their last name.
It is not that we all have forgotten,
rather we have never known.
Tomorrow the sun will rise.
Clouds pass through and go above
the town's rooftops and low lying visages.
Luminous glows and untouchable words
will turn our heads even more the day after.
When footprints are washed away
more will wander on the same path
as it has done for the thousands of human summers.
The prospect of lost steps does not vex me.
I walk now for my own way forward,
knowing that those who walk after will
know their way back.