My bare feet walk this path alone.
Leaving the story it caused behind.
The pain falls away little by little through the hole in my pocket,
like bread crumbs to a troubled past.

I’ve left my shoes at home, broken in and worn out.
Try them on if you’d like,
walk around, get the feel of things.
But don’t try to fix them,
cleaning would only cover the scuffs entailing my journeys.

Next to my shoes is a box,
a place I have collected my thoughts.
Don’t break the lock, for I wear the key.
My thoughts are gone and just for me.
I’ve engraved the top, that who sees will know.
'Stay Gold'.

If you look beneath you’ll find a book.
The pages of irrelevant meaning.
Its wrapped in parchment, as if to ship.
The address line left blank.
If opened the ink runs red for I’ve pressed my heart;
To store it, save it, make it last.

Lastly lays a covered cage,
bird seed scattered on around the base.
The bird inside defines this walk, beginning to the end.
Dead or alive depends on time, the strength of my own species.
A blackbird, or a dove. Me or you, which is my freedom?

My bare feet wall this path alone.
Following the story it left behind.
Pacing the dropped regrets from my pocket back to start.
Counting my steps all the way to you.