Notes Are Breadcrumbs
This is an extension of a Note I posted a while ago.
Your words are like breadcrumbs
left on a cobblestone path.
Little flowers spring up
wherever they fall.
Bees congregate to sample
the heady, intoxicating nectar.
Leading them straight to
your chest of treasures.
Where you seduce them
with your labours of love.
Every little box overflowing
with your precious tales.
Baring your aching soul
with vulnerable tenderness.
You reveal your deepest secrets
to every watching eye.
Hoping your offering will be safe
from mockery and hate.
Glimpses of you revealing
the intimate faces you keep hidden.
From the rest of the world's
judging and prying eyes.
Namaste
Love the movement of this piece.
this, my friend, is golden.