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rachel-sullivanPoems
I am afraid of stepping in the sand.                                        For I am afraid of the mark I will leave.                                     I am uncertain of the imprint I will make.                                       And I am afraid of what it would mean.                                                              Perhaps,                                          It will be small and insignificant.                                                 Just a pathetic footprint,                                      That the wind will blow away with time.                                                            Forgotten.                                                               Erased.                                                       Never to have been.                                                                                        I am afraid of disturbing the sand.                                            Thousands of tiny rocks, moved                                                                By me.                                            What if move them the wrong way?                                                Is there even room for me,                                             Amongst the sea of small stones?                                                                   Or,                                            What if I take my first step and fall?                                            Thats not the mark I want to leave.                                         Thats not how I want to be remembered.                                                                                      Someday, I will have to take that step.                                             Afterall, we all must move forward.                                                 But I dread the day I must go,                                                And venture out into the desert,                                                            For I am afraid.                                                                                         What if the sand is too hot?                                                 Perhaps, it will burn my toes.                                                       What if I’m too weak?                                                                                                  What if I go the wrong way?                                                   And my footprint points,                                                    in the wrong direction?                                           What if others will follow my steps?                                                            If I was lost,                                          I wouldn’t want them to be lost too.                                                                                                                  It takes thought,                                           How will I step on this sand of time?                                                           Will I tiptoe on,                                                             Cautiously,                                                    Just enjoying the walk,                                                         And be at peace                                              Knowing my steps won’t last?                                                                    Or,                                              Should I jump, at the risk of falling?                                        And engrave a mark that the world will feel                                                 And keep for years to come,                                               Like the fossils in a museum?                                                            Either way,                                                        I will still be afraid.
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Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
A fear of footprints
I am afraid of stepping in the sand.                                        For I am afraid of the mark I will leave.                                     I am uncertain of the imprint I will make.                                       And I am afraid of what it would mean.                                                              Perhaps,                                          It will be small and insignificant.                                                 Just a pathetic footprint,                                      That the wind will blow away with time.                                                            Forgotten.                                                               Erased.                                                       Never to have been.                                                                                        I am afraid of disturbing the sand.                                            Thousands of tiny rocks, moved                                                                By me.                                            What if move them the wrong way?                                                Is there even room for me,                                             Amongst the sea of small stones?                                                                   Or,                                            What if I take my first step and fall?                                            Thats not the mark I want to leave.                                         Thats not how I want to be remembered.                                                                                      Someday, I will have to take that step.                                             Afterall, we all must move forward.                                                 But I dread the day I must go,                                                And venture out into the desert,                                                            For I am afraid.                                                                                         What if the sand is too hot?                                                 Perhaps, it will burn my toes.                                                       What if I’m too weak?                                                                                                  What if I go the wrong way?                                                   And my footprint points,                                                    in the wrong direction?                                           What if others will follow my steps?                                                            If I was lost,                                          I wouldn’t want them to be lost too.                                                                                                                  It takes thought,                                           How will I step on this sand of time?                                                           Will I tiptoe on,                                                             Cautiously,                                                    Just enjoying the walk,                                                         And be at peace                                              Knowing my steps won’t last?                                                                    Or,                                              Should I jump, at the risk of falling?                                        And engrave a mark that the world will feel                                                 And keep for years to come,                                               Like the fossils in a museum?                                                            Either way,                                                        I will still be afraid.
rachel-sullivan
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rachel-sullivan
American
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
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