The Search

In the morning mist,
where clouded answers lie
 somewhere in between the dew.
 A silent soft voice echoes out
 from a ray of sunshine, while dancing
 down a snow-capped mountainside.
Questioning its path with uncertain reasoning.
Whether to run like the rapids or drop like a fall,
 but it sees it can do neither
because the drops are still glared
and don't yet shine on the steps of chance.


          
By: Derick Pallotti