Gray stairs ...

Source

One step after another,
a perplexed and dissonant look,
a click between noises,
a walk now far,
a picture hanging near the window,
a love poem,
a letter of roses,
a complete heart,
each step is less empty,
each break is more aggressive,
but I keep walking,
because walker there is no way,
the way is made by walking,
Then I see the neighbor next to me,
and I wonder why he has stopped walking,
Is it that the poet no longer thinks of the sea?
Poor miserable souls of pain and tears captive in grief,
crossed by faces of ancestors,
and loves not answered
And when I've noticed,
I have also stopped walking ...