04-07-2024, 10:02 AM
I left unwillingly with empty hands
and unshod feet. Time ran his path
while I had been walking mine.
Foolishly, I hid my face in a basket,
but it spilled out along the way.
I am always goaded forward, onward,
never to look back, never to return.
I baked memories for the road,
wrapped carefully, for taste transcends time
and place. But the memories grew stale
and lost their flavor. I cannot go back,
not even in my mind. The door is locked
and the path is long since swept away.
It is time to move forward again,
the clock has grown spikes,
and my grip on this moment is failing.
I place my face in a basket and bake
memories to nibble on the way.
Futility never wins over hope.
and unshod feet. Time ran his path
while I had been walking mine.
Foolishly, I hid my face in a basket,
but it spilled out along the way.
I am always goaded forward, onward,
never to look back, never to return.
I baked memories for the road,
wrapped carefully, for taste transcends time
and place. But the memories grew stale
and lost their flavor. I cannot go back,
not even in my mind. The door is locked
and the path is long since swept away.
It is time to move forward again,
the clock has grown spikes,
and my grip on this moment is failing.
I place my face in a basket and bake
memories to nibble on the way.
Futility never wins over hope.
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara