walking on dirty streets
i smell dreams
breath trapped in dark
i thought of you
folding time once
but it wasn’t true
forget languages used
worn-out tires stacked high
push new carts
with clean linen
forge another path
*86/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. All photos are mine.
Forge another path. Lovely photo!
Thank you. I was pretty excited about that photo.
☺️☺️
What a conundrum we live in, Bridgette.
Indeed. Thank you for reading.
I’m way too brain-dead to fully grasp this poem unfortunately. I see a “breaking free from” motif, but a little wondering at the folding time reference.
That’s totally fair, and it’s a bit all over the place. I think I was just playing with imagery really, learning how to pace out words and how they sound.