Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Tiny, puffy clouds
were once above my head
My feet were there below,
steady and firmly placed.

I can walk a straight path
with no complications
Even in twist and turns
and a loss of directions

Rarely do I trip
or dangle from the branches
The weeds are growing taller
but facile to remove.

I traveled further
in the long, narrow streets
The constant flickering lights,
a very mysterious aura

I headed straight,
but something made me turn
the clouds were on my feet
I suddenly disappeared.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2014

— The End —