Sunday Stanza: Poem Fifty Three-Journey By Hannah Williams

When the sight glazed across the journey, the lips let out a prayer so swift like the years of the youth.

The feet walks casually imprinting its mark.

Yet, no one remembers the hand that adorned the feet  nor the language that taught it how to walk.

An inscription stronger than titanium and more permanent than destiny.

Even when it detours to a space more temporary, the wind cannot lift away lift its particles.

May the footsteps be revered as much as where it stands.

Wherever the mind leads the feet, may it say it knew where it wanted to go.

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