I stumbled across an old soul
taking shelter under a thin tin roof,
his
tired eyes had seen countless lives,
and desperate for what they could offer
me
I asked:
how do I know I'm on the right path?
It feels like I'm blind and stumbling
nothing more than a feather on the
winds of fate–
how do I learn how to fly?
He eyed me suspiciously.
What
did he see under my facade?
Has he heard this question too many
times?
“A feather cannot hope to fly on
its own
nor does it have eyes to guide its
way,”
But–
“Foresight comes in retrospect
but where you've been does not show
where you'll go
always we walk into the unknown
unsure if our feet will find ground
but walk we must, one step at a
time
with
naught but hope to guide us.”
-Zero
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