(no subject)
Keep on truckin'
I have a mother as
vibrant as the red hair
she can never seem to control
born with a pen in hand and
words to spill
she recited the words early on
etching them to concrete minds
as long as your legs keep moving
your soul will keep living
questions arise in the margins
smeared ink shows
these obvious paths aren't always
the path we should take,
as we hide in the "road not taken"
to rationalize our decisions
to make sense of the choices
that seem to be our destruction
I try to believe
my footstep is my heartbeat
I need to know that I control
where it and I go.
Know that somewhere
there will be footprints
that match the rhythm of my heart
dancing through streets,
until my legs stop moving,
and my heart stops beating,
because my soul won't stop living.
Lately, I've been going through old work and seeing if there's anything worth going over again. I must have written this about a year or two ago and something about it makes me want to figure out a way to rework the message, at least. Suggestions? Critiques? Tear it apart! The more critiques I read (on my work and others) -- the more I feel I understand what I'm doing when I press my pen down.
This community is so great, by the way. I feel as though I'm already learning a lot from everyone here. I can't wait to try to apply it to some new writing. Thank you!