They stood under thorns,
asking for shade—
as if pain
could ever protect them.
I chose the road.
Not because it was easy,
but because it was mine.
Blisters taught me
what comfort never could.
Silence showed me
what noise hides.
And somewhere between
every fall
and every step—
I began to believe:
Destinations don’t appear.
They are made.
Slowly.
Quietly.
From the dust
you leave behind.
So I walk.
Even when the sun burns.
Even when the night forgets me.
Because I know—
one day,
the horizon will remember
my name.
About the Creator
Jhon smith
Welcome to my little corner of the internet, where words come alive
Keep reading
More stories from Jhon smith and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Cairn Beside the Lake
And so it came to pass that King Ertharion, Tenth King of Lombaia, stood beside the still lake below unrelenting and unassailable cliffs with the remainder of his harried host. In what was the tenth year of his reign and his forty-fourth upon this great green earth, Menigo the Betrayer, cousin of King Ertharion, pressed home his false claim.
By Matthew J. Fromm7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Your words perfectly describe the space between two people who feel everything but say nothing.