the old house
boarded up
barnacles with ice plant
where once graced
her grandmother’s lace
handmade candles
the old port bottle
a work of art
face pressed
the dirty window
while the sand shifts
footprints long ago
the constant roar
once comforting
now a siren echo
crying you home.
maysa-maria kristina gadelha peterson
“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.” ― Joseph Campbell
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"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things." Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
I love “what once”, beautiful! beijo!
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