Each mountain had memories
And each stepping stone had a story to tell
About a man who lived
Who enlightened the world
And forever to go..
He, lived behind the lines…
She, with the scars ,
that made those lines ..
those lines of her poem…
As I walk through the streets of life,
the roads were long and felt very narrow ,
the atmosphere suffocated all around.
People running behind their lives,
Some had a grip and
Some slipped a bit,
But none I saw sat behind.
High and ecstatic on a side,
Coats and bows were their pride.
Low and casual on the other side,
Kept their pace without leaving behind.
None had a choice
but to let life decide,
where to begin and
Where to explore.
Thirteen feets above the ground,
i stood on the concrete floors of rock.
Watching the farthest land of men,
built with heights and
lights to attract.
Beautiful indeed are those views,
not a single tree blocked my sight,
not a single mountain left.
Man had vanished it with a blink of an eye.
Alone I stood for I had no pals,
nor could I engrave those in words.
For I saw beautiful of the sights,
Ocean of lights and land of heights.