As she walks by in platform sandals
A portrait of pain and strength
The perseverance is aged by a life lived on tanned feet
Innumerable moments there have been since her fervor has strolled by my door
Timeless panicked seconds when she should stay but still she goes
Not always red, white or blue but forever a rainbow hue
I am needlepoint aware of where she walks today
She strides by with mask on and alms shared
It is not up to me to cast doubt upon whom else be within her infantry
To ponder her journey requires me to be just another enemy
Like those who have gone before.
Little time for haste.
White noise everywhere.
A traveling companion for despair.
What of the place that heaven indicates?
For those who hesitate.
thanking its visitors for listening.
Fabled messages on hold.
Sounds of lines going dead.
When the morn writes home.
Should it be written back?
After all, what is in a name?
What of the stray thread?
We find on the floor.
As one is spotted.
until the end.
Unless their need necessitates someone to defend.
Complacency placid with the faceless poor.
Prior to the morn that writes no more.
they say that time heals all things, they say you can always forget; but the smiles and the tears across the years they twist my heart-strings yet! George Orwell