How can it be that your words describe what I have seen?
How can the words you write describe the path I have trodden?
Bumps and hills, hurdles, smiles... how do you know them?
Are my thoughts, experiences all so openly seen that you have access?
Were you following, reading minds, perhaps spying or stalking?
Even my thoughts and emotions in precise framing in your words.
Are you me in some other form I have until now never seen?
How can you understand me and know me when we have never met?
You were not there when I lived these things. How can you know them?
Our pathways in different lands, at different times and yet you write me.
How can we share these footprints and yet never meet?

shoreline littered

broken shells,

bits of seagrapes,

parts of a dead crab,

and footprints.

I drive to the early coffee shop
and order my decaf tea
I don't drink caffeine you see
as my body is a temple
and needs its insides
kept pristine

my cup bears my name with pride
and I slide to the side bar
just a drop of milk
not too much
and skimmed
of course
then stir my conscience
and avoid the cake
I take my takeaway
to my MPV
which has plenty of room
just for me

I start up the engine
to enjoy the air conditioning
sit and start up my thinking
til I'm a venti ready to drive away
more awake and ready
to start a fresh new day

there's barely a hint
of my early bleary eyed squint
and I sing
blissfully oblivious
of my oversized
first world
footprint

On sandy land and muddy plains it appears
A mark left for succeeding generations
Carved with hands, sweat and blood
Indelible a mark that cannot be erased
You can find them on the various paths of life
For very few have been careful to leave them behind
And many careless if they mark their path
They are heroes and heroines of songs
They line the pages of books and poems
They grace the walls of museums and temples
Some are men and others are gods
And all of them have walked the earth

They discovered the heights of the sky
And the depths of the seas
They found the distances of lands
And lengths of deserts
They carved their names on stones and monuments of rocks
With their blood, sweat and hands
Marks the walls of earth with their names
Heroes of wars
Lords of science
Kings of nations
Queens of kingdoms
Loved and hate, doubted and scorned but none was a fool
Lords of art
Kings of songs
Telling their stories in pages with age
Prose, Drama and Poems
Today we sing memories of them

And we have heard
How they made war
How they caused war to cease
And we have heard
How they shed blood
How they saved lives
And we have heard
How they fought death
And overcame reproach
Great and small but none was a fool

Some and have been found and their stories told
Others are lost and the search is on
But diligent as we may be
Forever they may be lost
In the heights of the sky
In the depth of the sea
In the dark alleys of the cave
In the heavy sands of the desert
In the deep belly of the Bermuda triangle
And in the racist and hateful heart of men
But still abide their footprint on the rock
And the sands of time may tell it all
Or never will their footprints reveal.

You leave a mark where you stand,
the kind that doesn't fade easily.
like a flower, sprouted
from the shadow of your footprint
and made a bed for tired little me.

A footstep stood
is better than a step back.
We may leave a deeper print,
but it shows others
                    that's its not easily filled.

And that those that try to fill it,
              have lot more to prove


than the reason of its depth..