Moorlands
The longest journey, sometimes,
Is to open the gate and walk past
The time, distance and pain
Trickling from our face in vain
Making indispensable into irrelevant.
For building a tomorrow that is bolder,
Leaving the beauty to the eyes of the beholder
On my way here,
I found the buried sorrows
Sheltered and watered,
To become trees blossoming from sipping tears
So, forward I move
Making place for new and naive.
Meandering and evolving
Until the soul departs.