In spite of what may seem to the naked eye as destruction,
Words could simply turn to a birth.
A rebirth of an age in generation..
Trotting lands re-stamping paths of worriers old,
Holding dear custom tight on our chests we were told,
?History re-lives itself?? In that I find relief.
Belief? I believe that once I lived.

My forefathers recited these citations,
They carved the walking stick and refurbished their boots
For my feet to fit.
Is this it? Are these really, their words untold?

The questions arise as echoes of footprints ring in my ears,
My eyes continuously shower tears in agony,
In fear
Of walking in the quiet alley following the sounds I hear..
Seeking to unfold truth, but blinded by deception
The earth opens up to unveil golden fossils,
Will I dig to find or will I remain just?perception?

Actions unjustified, justice left just as is?
Nothing is wrong anymore, the rite is rite and the wrong is right.
So what if I write?
Post these letters for me to mother earth and ask here
What really is life worth?
These footprints are too hollow for my shallow feet to follow.

--End--