Sometimes there is nothing but me
and the quiet of this room.
Sometimes the silence falls so softly
that I scarcely feel it arrive.
I sit here with memories, calling forth
the echoes of a lonely soul.
I linger long on stories past
of things I’ve said and done.
Time has been slow and time has been long
as I have gathered dust on my shoes.
Through rain filled forests and wind swept fields
there are traces of the places I’ve been.
There are visions soft and images warm
and things that I simply cannot recall.
There are stories scratched onto paper worn
the edges burned and raw.
The scars on my skin and the lines on my soul
define the life that I’ve lived.
The uneven path where my footsteps have been
are the evidence of lessons learned.
There are places where I have stopped to rest
places where I have moved on.
Places where I wished to have laid down and died
and places where it just wasn’t time.
There is a story in every step I have taken
the journey sometimes far, far too long.
But I stand here steady, this ground firm as stone
looking back on how far I have come.