What is a path but a reason,
to follow past intention?
These old bricks are slick, with the rain.
Shining, clean meets dirty
in harmony
They are for everyone, a
service publicly placed.
They are for no one, for,
when not trod upon,
they are forgotten.
These bricks are a graveyard,
Where each interlocking piece is
proof of a moment,
just waiting to be reborn in a
memory - fleeting and busy.
These bricks are a stage,
they fit together,
to hold up actors
in the this riveting tragedy/comedy
They are solid ground,
and feet seek them.
But as they,
stare at the sky
all day,
And the unrelenting traffic
wears them away;
they subtly give way to the crush,
and with the slightest gust.....
Return to the dust.
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