I picture myself sitting at this long table. Beautiful settings on every seat. A tiny letter on each plate. But mine is laced with gold. In it is a beautiful poem that goes a little something like this:
It's time to break
the history has made its mark
the trees swayed and swayed
you make your mark
and all that's left is a sign
your standing at the edge
calming the waves of your hair
spewing out words from this sudden place
believing in this sudden god
worshiping this life
rocks tumble and your back to back
with the words you once said in your past life
the head stone lies blank and its covered in dust
let the words sharpen your wits
and let this poem give you something to read
now follow whats left
and the road will be yours
but from time to time listen and learn
I smile and I think about what it means. i dont know who wrote it or what else is in the envelopes but i know every single word is meant for me. My pretty gold laced poem is laced with golden words. It's how these days are meant to be and every word heads straight to the same train of thought.
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