Feet | Poetry

My feet run
only as long as
day light remains.

They run fast and
they are hard,
strong as steel,
made of the finest iron,
one of those things
that are really real.

They’ve crossed mountains
and streams
and valleys
of all kinds.
They’ve conquered kingdoms
and knights
and weapons
known to humankind.

But when night falls
and the lights run out,
they cripple,
devoid of it’s origins.

They run
to somewhere
where no demon should
reach, else it be consumed.

They do not have strength
in them,
it’s been sucked out.

It’s like drowning
in deep waters,
with your foot tied to an anchor.

Lend me a hand,
will you?
Because I cannot escape it alone.

Neither can you.

Brave

I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough,
I said to her,
unable to meet her eyes
that looked like mine.

It’s alright, she said.

I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough
to act when it was right,
I said, once again.

It’s alright, she said.

There’s some peace in acceptance,
to face your coward self,
to see things as they are.
It is not still too late to be brave.

I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough
I said, to leap when the bridge appeared,
judgmental of the straps that held it.

I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough
to pull tomorrow into today,
to have lost your eyes a chance
to feel it once for real.

I do not know if tomorrow
will be as good as yesterday.

It’s alright, she said.

There’s some courage needed
to know today has become yesterday,
some more to honor the unknown as it comes
like waves of water.
It is not still too late to be brave.

It is not still too late to be brave.