No Sight Of Tracks...

how many times,
must i die today?
my arms are weary,
my eyes are blurred.
how many soul trinkets,
must i bury in the sand...
only to walk away,
leaving no footprints?

i know nothing,
but what i hear and i taste.
i have no baggage,
and no epitaph.
this body but seed,
this spirit but rain...
i long for the wind,
the web, and the hill!

when bones become wings,
and forever tiny buds.
then night and day,
can no longer be strangers.
and i then become love,
as miracle becomes birth.
i hear the sound of the train,
yet no sight of tracks!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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