John Grey

This one’s called “if those flat-surface escalator things were on a beach”

In sand I have crossed lines
that have been erased by the winds.
All the steps are mine,
the prints soaked in sin.

A shallow feeling
before spoken word.
A tear shed before
a sound is heard.

Into darkness
and step through to light.
A shadow ends,
where freedom burns bright.

Now under the ‘guise,
of this new way.
Onto the ground,
new prints I lay.

And as I turn ’round,
I find myself there.
Staring through bleak eyes,
looking with despair.

Does he want to be here
forward in time,
Where everything seems better
what I’ve done, seems fine?

… or would I rather be back there?