My shoes are worn
But the travel
Taught me to look
Not to see
But to find
Perspective
Secret meadows
Invite to rest
The unrest
Yet they only lead
To cities of steel
Where my shoes dreamt
Of mountain
Sides
Where the nightingales
Sing at sunrise
Uninvited and shy
To forget
The night
Before
My shoes are worn
But I still keep
Them on
To keep going
Through uninviting
Fields
For the harvest
Without season
Without reason
For what is broken
Is protected
From new
Breaks
And
From
Itself
April 22, 2026
© Vahé A. Kazandjian
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