VIII
Trip and a stumble
On roots there I tumble
A whole spinning world
That I no longer know
But I’m as unknown
As the world that I’m
Falling
Through
Vines giving dreams
As we come into contact
My feet feel like dancing
With uneven ground
I fall on my face
without making a sound
Maybe I’ll lie here
A cold concrete bed
Cold concrete world
Concrete…
A Life in Poems 