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Danny Sep 18
Sometimes I wonder where I lost myself
But it's hard to retrace my steps
Rain has fallen and the footprints have been washed away
Lost in time, hanging in space never to be seen again

I think I miss me, the old me
Or maybe I never lost myself, just grew out of him
Or maybe the new me is just the devil I need
A necessary evil maybe just maybe
Anastasia Jul 17
Echoes of life in the sand.
A thousand grains shifted from the weight of a child.
Forever there, until the tide pulls in.
A footprint, fully intact is a memory.
A memory of a second in time.
an old poem i feel others may like ~ i hope so
Jonathan Moya Apr 26
The shadows of our footprints
follow us everywhere from the court,
the pavement, the dance, the street,
ink stained register of our birth,
and the stumble to grave,
invisible to us unless
in melting snow, bed of dirt.

The powder on the factory floor
leaves the forensics of our existence.

Watch as trees bend
to cover the crime,
wind and lighting conspire
to cover the crime.

The little black dog on a leash
being hastily pulled away
as his hind paws kick up snow
in a frenzy conspiracy to hide the tracks
while other tracks are exposed in
the freshly trampled white
too numerous for even limbs to hide.

The angles of shadow staircases and flues
declare the evidence of their guilt,
their conspiracy with death.

An iron rooster crowing northwest
in the embers of the day
exposes rooftop crosses
and a receding skyline,
caught in the smoky cyclone
that reveals two once tall towers.

Two shadows on the pavement
walk towards each other
one holding onto the long
rail of a stop sign while
the lady on the third floor
arranges three flower pots
on her tenement window sill
in the enclosing concrete footprints
that surround her and every one.
Shadows, Footprints, every day Crimes
OpenWorldView Apr 13
It’s time to explore.
And leave footprints in the mud.
Don’t squander this life.
annh Mar 3
whispers of architecture
footprints in the dust
I WAS HERE
7-5-3
rose Feb 10
Sometimes I imagine us holding hands,
Walking along the harbor:
You, telling stories of all these lost years
       like a pelican begging for food
Making music out of my invisible tears

But maybe instead of holding your hand
I should hold on to the future
And stop chasing your footprints in the sand
Only to be led nowhere.
I will no longer swim in these tears.
I have felt the ache of the salt burn on my skin for far too long.
It’s not worth docking on this pier
If you don’t treasure me like the shells along your shore.

So I set sail.
I will find a new island to call my own &
Sculpt the land like shaping clay on a pottery wheel.

I will treasure all of my shells and secrets
The way you did not treasure me.
And for once, I will command the sea.
seekai Feb 9
Walking hand in hand on the beach
Our footprints in the sand
The cool summer wind that breathes
It’s life across the land.

I see the summer memories
That float by in my eyes
I feel the taste of happiness blow
As I stare up at the skies

Summer has held many great things.
Parties, silly fun.
But one thing I won’t forget
Is our time in the sun.

I feel warm when I’m next
To you. Walking side by side.
On this beach as we relive the times
Where we all laughed and cried.

It’s summer that gave us this
I'll remember that when you go
I’ll hold your hand and keep you close
But you’ll leave one day, I know.

So I reach the end of the strip
The water lapping at our feet
The summer thoughts that now fly by
Oh, they’re good but bittersweet.

The summer has now reached an end
But I need you by my side.
Too late, you’re gone.
Walked back into the tide.
this was the first proper poem that I wrote when I was younger, and sparks the beginning of my passion for writing. it's personal, filled with memories and written just after one of the most memorable summers of my life.
Sean Achilleos Dec 2018
For years I turned right
For years I turned left
Believing it would bring me some form of happiness
Perhaps the lack of Love in my life caused me to do so
However I soon discovered that turning only in one direction
Left me moving in a circle
Thus was my cycle ... Thus was my life
Going round and round like a Ferris wheel
In ways I guess it kept me sane
In practice it wasted a lot of time ... Precious time
And so my soul had to be dragged through the dark woods
Lost in a maze
A whirlpool called life
A gloomy forest filled with hungry wolves
The only way out was to try all exits ... Break the pattern
To turn in all directions
From afar I could see a light
This light reflected ... As light usually does
But this light also attracted
I focused on it ... Progressed to where it was coming from
I was not afraid
I ignored the growling sounds of wolves trying to close in on me
Gnashing their teeth as if they could already ******* blood
I soldiered on towards the light
Finally I had reached the open door
I stepped into the light as if it had been waiting for me
Then I turned to see from whence I had come
But the ocean water had washed my footprints away
I was standing on a sandy shore
Children playing in the golden sand ... Building sandcastles
People sunbathing ... Sapphire blue waters
In the air the distinct smell of coconut
A mirror in the sky reflecting my life story
I was able to edit it ... pause and delete
Cut out the bad parts
But then I realised that without them my journey would've been incomplete
Written by Sean Achilleos 21 December 2018©
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
Sean Achilleos' Music is available on the following platforms:
Amazon, Apple Music, iTunes, Deezer, Google Play, Pandora, Saavn, SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, YouTube, Jango Radio, Nicovideo (Japan), IQIYI (China) and YOUKU (China)

Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is obtainable from the following platforms:
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pistachio Dec 2018
Ground's bare but we two filled it
With footprints chasing each other heartily
But those were superseded past a minute
With footmarks of separating ways painfully.
Our footprints show the blissful start and sorrowful end of our love.
Dani Oct 2018
"A Psalm of Life" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!APsalmof_Life

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;—

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
This spoke to me so much so, that I had to bring it here for others.
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