the spring morning gave way to new ideals
picking up what remained of the all but forgotten snow, it was thrown away into our minds and melted into the dirt behind memories of days past
we press onward curious of this world made from green and yellow
only stopping to catch our breaths after running through the grass for what seems like the first time in years
YOU ARE READING
Crossing the dark moon
PoetryIt is up to every man to choose what path they follow. Whether it be in fairness or out of spite, the choice is up to the individual at the end of the road
