At Your Feet
I walk to you slowly.
I already feel your gaze.
You are miles away,
but I feel a warm haze.
When I get to your feet
what will you say?
Will you recognize me,
accept me,
despite of my ways?
I keep hoping and praying
that I didn't stop too late,
that the life I had been living
hasn't given me
an unrecognizable face.
Copyright © Louise Picek | Year Posted 2007
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