I woke up to my path inviting me on a exploration.
I looked twice in the white moon, once in the blue skies.
Hushed upon the rest of the river and its flow tides.
My lips remained frozen with a kiss from the rose pines.
Scattered thoughts sailed across my eardrums like it was the last time I heard his words.
If these trees were palm, I’d bathe in the Sunday of his gospel.
But, it was all dream.
Photo Cred: Me
©A-Jjahlov Powell, 2019