Tags
Death, Fear of Death, Horses, Life, life after death, Life and Death, Love, Peace, Perception of Time, Poem, Poems, Poetry
There is a fine line,
so skinny, so fragile;
what is,
on the other side,
breathing hard.
A horse can hear,
a deer can hear it,
but we do not,
and we live, mostly,
without fear.
Recently, the paths diverged:
what should have been,
but wasn’t,
what was,
but shouldn’t have been,
and I wonder
if those two ways,
continue in different spheres.
I hear their breathing,
each year, stronger,
and something, like love,
pulling me there.
What is time,
but a rotation under the sun,
a perception of what has been,
a perception of moving
toward what is to come.
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