We know not where we want to go,
We know what paths we ought to take.
We feel not the beauty that surrounds us,
nor the joys bring smiles to our lips.
The tears don't move us anymore,
and we feel no sorrow no pain.
We need not friends by our side,
and we have left our families far behind.
We walk on and we walk away,
from lanes of memories that come calling.
We shove the past to the sidewalks.
And we bury our present with our own hands.
No sun brings hope, no moon begets a poem.
No butterfly gets an admiring eye.
And yet we live, if you call this life ...
An empty meaningless life.
They tell me,
The spring is yet to come ...
I wonder how long it lasts ...
Writing for the Five Minute Friday ... The Gypsy Mama