You would hold my hand
guiding me as I followed
along the etched path in your palm.
And as I tread lightly on the unfamiliar ground
you would
smile.
And I would look up to see you speak but all I could see were
green wells staring down at mine with a shine that spoke for themselves.
But I could never get lost in your eyes
and I always had to
tread lightly
when being lead.
Because you promised the path wouldn't break,
and a hand that wouldn't let go,
and a gaze that wouldn't end.
But a palm can't go on forever and neither can it's
etched lines.
So our line must have been fate for it was
short.
The beaten ground crumbled beneath tears from your green wells
and as your gaze finally dropped,
your hand let go.