Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov on Unsplash

Thursday, November 21, 2019

Walking for miles the dirt wouldn’t pave it.

A trail so narrow—the brush we burned it.

Until now is all what’s deserved.

The rest you’ll need to earn it.

A faith ever so birthed.

Not knowing the reward’s girth.

There it’s not, but hope past the next is a tree,

…of gifts for the pain’s in journeying.

What’s so bright would come undone.

Inner speakings for everyone.

You’ve done the good deed without a seed.

Approaching a promise and the watcher believes.

Into the gold two feet walk.

From the scent of destiny, the angels brew a welcoming.

Songs of joy, laughter, and upliftings hear love.

No utterings for breaths speak to it.

What we’d see through created aisles.

A star lit night for the wild-child.

-Budd

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes because no one can 'read' him. And it's a great way to hide public thoughts...

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