footsteps…. the sound of a somber stroll through a solitude the likes of which no thing in this universe is subjected to more than man; an auditory torture filled with doubt, dread, and uncertainty about what news may come.
I heard the footsteps….. calm at first and then more rapid to a frantic state. A ghost, or a big black dog with a small bladder that just needs to do his business outside.
There is no snow to cover my footsteps, you can see every indent in the sun baked dirt. My life leaves a noticeable trace and sometimes I’m not sure whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. It just is.
He didn’t hear them approaching at first, honestly; they were so soft and quiet that it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t imaging them. But when he raised his eyes slowly, he found another pair staring at him – bright green, like all of the forests of the world. Startled, he took a few steps back, unsure what to do.
“You are so much more than this,” the figure whispered. And then was gone.
The kitten trod across fields of downy feathers, her soft footsteps silent amid the down.
She pursued a mouse until it, too, got lost in the sea of white.
The footsteps tapped quietly against the floor; tap, tap, tap. I peeked around the corner, heart racing, ready to bolt at any moment. They grew closer; tap, tap, tap.
I heard her footsteps outside my door, the scuffing of leather boots against the straw mat. A couple of clicks and snaps, then a rush of hot air, signaled that she was lighting a cigarette. I was not inside my house. I was, instead, in the garden on the left side, tending to the squash plants that I had watered a few hours earlier when the sun wasn’t so hot and heavy in the sky.
footsteps, i always hear footsteps just as I’m about to fall asleep. i wonder if it ever really means anything. am i supposed to get up and go check it out? or am i supposed to ignore it and continue onto my slumber. those soft steps, i wish i could walk again..
Step… step… step…
I try to silence my breathing underneath the bed. From behind the fallen duvet, I can see one, then two heavy, dirty, brown work boots. A drop of red hits the carpet in front of them. Blood, dripping off the man. I stifle a terrified sound. My heart beats too loudly in the silent room.
In a gravely voice, he speaks, “I know you’re in here, little girl. I can smell you.”
Step… step… step…
There’s a distinct trail of footsteps behind me. They mark my past failings and successes. I was much better then, than I am now.
I have no idea what lies ahead. I don’t have any tracks to point that out.
There he is, walking down a path in the forest. He probably shouldn’t be out this late, he knows that, but the sound of light footsteps padding behind him startles him out of his reverie. He whips his head around, but nobody is there.This is starting to feel like a cliche horror movie he absolutely loathes.
I heard the footsteps across the ceiling in my old farmhouse. I hate when I heard them up there and I’m home all by myself. I don’t have a problem with spirits, but they scare me when I’m alone not expecting it. They might even be the footsteps of my late great-grandfather who built this very house. He spent a lot of time here and showed me all around his property every chance he would get. He showed great pride in this house, it might just be him letting me know he is still here with me.
Teetering small padded remember when mine were soft flesh now gnarled hardened yellow knotted suggests how far I’ve travelled down rough roads and on burnt embers. What did you take from the rabbits den? How many rubies? Where are your rubies ? What are you even doing here child, without any rubies? Foolish the overcompliant, your good behavior has bought you ignorance. Chew off your calloused skin, start over. Re-toddle. Re-taught All.
I wake up blearily to the sound of footsteps. “Huh? Whats going on?” I mumble enegebly.
The footsteps go on for a little while longer, I freeze, a chill spreading across my body, realizing that I have an intruder in my house.
I cautiously tip-toe to my door, peeking ot the crack in my bedroom door. The intruder was a rich looking man, in a trench coat. A gun, and a photo of me, lay in his hands and he was smiling, mumbling something about how this would be too easy.
The sound of her baby boy’s first footsteps didn’t bring her to tears…at least, not immediately. She felt herself losing control of her emotions, but instead of sobbing over the momentous occassion she remained frozen. He was growing up, and before she knew it eighteen or so years would’ve passed by and he’d be leaving her. Oh, she loved him.
I heard the footsteps get closer and closer.
My shoes learned to walk.
I watched as they danced in front of me.
Literally danced.
Much better than I.
I wish I had the same amount of soul they do.
Dance for me, shoes, dance.
He held my hands that were so much smaller than his own in a firm, but careful grip above my head. I teetered, and almost fell, panic over taking me, but he caught me. He cheered me on as I kept going, before I finally reached the wall. “Good job, Buddy!” Daddy said and my giggle pierced the air of the perfectly serene afternoon in the best possible way.
I will never hear your footsteps. I will never hear your heartbeat, I will never know what colour your eyes were. I will never know if you were going to be a sister or a brother. I will never know if you would have looked like the twins, if you were more twins, if you would have gotten along with us, how we would have fit you into our lives. I will never know if it would have been as hard as I imagined. When someone else takes your place as my third child, I will silently think they are my fourth. I will never get you back. I will never let you go. You never lived anywhere but inside of me and that is somewhat magical. But I will never hear your footsteps and that will never stop hurting.
<3 For my forever unborn.
I’m not sure what to call us.
We’re in between strangers and friends.
You always smile at me when we pass;
We always make eye-contact from across a room –
What am I supposed to think of that?
Am I just supposed to wait until
We either come together –
Or fall apart?
the night’s silence tunneled the light sound of footstep strait to my ear. I could hear nothing but the crunching leaves in the backyard. i didn’t know who or what it was, so i causiously when to inspect.
You could see two of them walking down the hill towards the ocean, one was short with long dark hair and the other was taller with white hair to his side. Only thing you could see was thier footsteps in the sand…
There’s a small tear in the “footsteps in the sand” poem poster on my door — thanks, Ria — and I’m feeling a little sweaty right now. The blood’s not helping either and even though I just made a huge descision, I’m still restless.
The pathway was far off the beaten track. Nobody should be out here, not even me. The trees around me stilled with the lack of life. Until i heard the footsteps. They echoed from the brook to my right. I’m no longer alone.
Footsteps in the corridor, clipping on stone like a fast-paced pony. Heels.
I only have seconds now, and I’m nowhere near to finishing the task.
She wasn’t meant to come back this soon, and now I’m too late. I clamp the backup bug to the underside of a desk drawer, feeling certain that she can’t find both (or at least not fast enough to do any serious damage to the Campaign), step away, and busy myself looking guilty as she opens the door.
At least that’s not too hard.
And as I raise my hands and try to force my heart back out of my mouth (they treat you worse if you actually look guilty as opposed to just being it), there’s a part of my brain that’s just slightly triumphant. She’ll never find it.
We’re gonna win.
And I followed their footsteps in the dance for rain that never came, not unless you counted the tears. And you will know them by the trail. Shells and teeth and coins.
Footsteps behind me. I run. Running. Always running. Whose. Does it matter? I am unsafe. Always such. Whoever is chasing never ends. Never tires. Why don’t they ever get tired. I know I am.
I hear them.
Behind me, then beside me.
I can’t figure out whose they are,
But all I hear are footsteps.
Most people would probably be freaked out by something like that,
But not me,
I figure someone must be watching out for me.
And there is something very comforting in that.
I loved flying once
But society binds me
To take mere FOOTSTEPS
Grow your own damn wings
Instead of caging the winged
And join us in flight
Vicariously
Through us live, if you can’t fly
OR gaze not the sky
I still hear you coming down the hall,
the pitter patter of your footsteps
when you’d hear me and my keys.
I still feel the weight of you,
pressing on my pillow;
feel your gaze upon my skin
like goosebumps,
you crawl all over me
and I will never let you go.
footsteps…. the sound of a somber stroll through a solitude the likes of which no thing in this universe is subjected to more than man; an auditory torture filled with doubt, dread, and uncertainty about what news may come.
I heard the footsteps….. calm at first and then more rapid to a frantic state. A ghost, or a big black dog with a small bladder that just needs to do his business outside.
There is no snow to cover my footsteps, you can see every indent in the sun baked dirt. My life leaves a noticeable trace and sometimes I’m not sure whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. It just is.
He didn’t hear them approaching at first, honestly; they were so soft and quiet that it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t imaging them. But when he raised his eyes slowly, he found another pair staring at him – bright green, like all of the forests of the world. Startled, he took a few steps back, unsure what to do.
“You are so much more than this,” the figure whispered. And then was gone.
there wasn’t anywhere else to go.
The click of heels against the floor usually wasn’t menacing, I mean, come on. Who’d be scared of heels?
I would.
In today’s world, everyone.
It wasn’t even debatable: you heard it, and you ran.
The kitten trod across fields of downy feathers, her soft footsteps silent amid the down.
She pursued a mouse until it, too, got lost in the sea of white.
The footsteps tapped quietly against the floor; tap, tap, tap. I peeked around the corner, heart racing, ready to bolt at any moment. They grew closer; tap, tap, tap.
In a moment, he was around the corner.
I ran.
I heard her footsteps outside my door, the scuffing of leather boots against the straw mat. A couple of clicks and snaps, then a rush of hot air, signaled that she was lighting a cigarette. I was not inside my house. I was, instead, in the garden on the left side, tending to the squash plants that I had watered a few hours earlier when the sun wasn’t so hot and heavy in the sky.
footsteps, i always hear footsteps just as I’m about to fall asleep. i wonder if it ever really means anything. am i supposed to get up and go check it out? or am i supposed to ignore it and continue onto my slumber. those soft steps, i wish i could walk again..
She walked through the wet dewy grass and looking back could see the footsteps, and path she had taken.
Step… step… step…
I try to silence my breathing underneath the bed. From behind the fallen duvet, I can see one, then two heavy, dirty, brown work boots. A drop of red hits the carpet in front of them. Blood, dripping off the man. I stifle a terrified sound. My heart beats too loudly in the silent room.
In a gravely voice, he speaks, “I know you’re in here, little girl. I can smell you.”
Step… step… step…
There’s a distinct trail of footsteps behind me. They mark my past failings and successes. I was much better then, than I am now.
I have no idea what lies ahead. I don’t have any tracks to point that out.
There he is, walking down a path in the forest. He probably shouldn’t be out this late, he knows that, but the sound of light footsteps padding behind him startles him out of his reverie. He whips his head around, but nobody is there.This is starting to feel like a cliche horror movie he absolutely loathes.
I heard the footsteps across the ceiling in my old farmhouse. I hate when I heard them up there and I’m home all by myself. I don’t have a problem with spirits, but they scare me when I’m alone not expecting it. They might even be the footsteps of my late great-grandfather who built this very house. He spent a lot of time here and showed me all around his property every chance he would get. He showed great pride in this house, it might just be him letting me know he is still here with me.
we attain success with every footsteps of failure.
Teetering small padded remember when mine were soft flesh now gnarled hardened yellow knotted suggests how far I’ve travelled down rough roads and on burnt embers. What did you take from the rabbits den? How many rubies? Where are your rubies ? What are you even doing here child, without any rubies? Foolish the overcompliant, your good behavior has bought you ignorance. Chew off your calloused skin, start over. Re-toddle. Re-taught All.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
I wake up blearily to the sound of footsteps. “Huh? Whats going on?” I mumble enegebly.
The footsteps go on for a little while longer, I freeze, a chill spreading across my body, realizing that I have an intruder in my house.
I cautiously tip-toe to my door, peeking ot the crack in my bedroom door. The intruder was a rich looking man, in a trench coat. A gun, and a photo of me, lay in his hands and he was smiling, mumbling something about how this would be too easy.
The sound of her baby boy’s first footsteps didn’t bring her to tears…at least, not immediately. She felt herself losing control of her emotions, but instead of sobbing over the momentous occassion she remained frozen. He was growing up, and before she knew it eighteen or so years would’ve passed by and he’d be leaving her. Oh, she loved him.
I heard the footsteps get closer and closer.
My shoes learned to walk.
I watched as they danced in front of me.
Literally danced.
Much better than I.
I wish I had the same amount of soul they do.
Dance for me, shoes, dance.
He held my hands that were so much smaller than his own in a firm, but careful grip above my head. I teetered, and almost fell, panic over taking me, but he caught me. He cheered me on as I kept going, before I finally reached the wall. “Good job, Buddy!” Daddy said and my giggle pierced the air of the perfectly serene afternoon in the best possible way.
I will never hear your footsteps. I will never hear your heartbeat, I will never know what colour your eyes were. I will never know if you were going to be a sister or a brother. I will never know if you would have looked like the twins, if you were more twins, if you would have gotten along with us, how we would have fit you into our lives. I will never know if it would have been as hard as I imagined. When someone else takes your place as my third child, I will silently think they are my fourth. I will never get you back. I will never let you go. You never lived anywhere but inside of me and that is somewhat magical. But I will never hear your footsteps and that will never stop hurting.
<3 For my forever unborn.
I’m not sure what to call us.
We’re in between strangers and friends.
You always smile at me when we pass;
We always make eye-contact from across a room –
What am I supposed to think of that?
Am I just supposed to wait until
We either come together –
Or fall apart?
the night’s silence tunneled the light sound of footstep strait to my ear. I could hear nothing but the crunching leaves in the backyard. i didn’t know who or what it was, so i causiously when to inspect.
i hear footsteps around the corner the footsteps came nearer and nearer but what to do suddenly the footsteps became quicker and quicker
the night’s silence tunneled the light sound of footstep strait to my ear
I don’t know what it means. Foot? and Steps? Can you help me understand? I think I know now…
The Lords footsteps are beside mine.
You could see two of them walking down the hill towards the ocean, one was short with long dark hair and the other was taller with white hair to his side. Only thing you could see was thier footsteps in the sand…
There’s a small tear in the “footsteps in the sand” poem poster on my door — thanks, Ria — and I’m feeling a little sweaty right now. The blood’s not helping either and even though I just made a huge descision, I’m still restless.
I hear little footsteps down the hall, here come some big footsteps through the door.
Footsteps are something of a mystery to us. They are left by everyone and can become everything. They are an anomaly and yet an identity.
The pathway was far off the beaten track. Nobody should be out here, not even me. The trees around me stilled with the lack of life. Until i heard the footsteps. They echoed from the brook to my right. I’m no longer alone.
Footsteps in the corridor, clipping on stone like a fast-paced pony. Heels.
I only have seconds now, and I’m nowhere near to finishing the task.
She wasn’t meant to come back this soon, and now I’m too late. I clamp the backup bug to the underside of a desk drawer, feeling certain that she can’t find both (or at least not fast enough to do any serious damage to the Campaign), step away, and busy myself looking guilty as she opens the door.
At least that’s not too hard.
And as I raise my hands and try to force my heart back out of my mouth (they treat you worse if you actually look guilty as opposed to just being it), there’s a part of my brain that’s just slightly triumphant. She’ll never find it.
We’re gonna win.
I didn’t hear footsteps. Everyone thinks they hear footsteps in the dark of the night, but I know I didn’t. No, I hear a shotgun click.
And I followed their footsteps in the dance for rain that never came, not unless you counted the tears. And you will know them by the trail. Shells and teeth and coins.
Heavy footsteps were heard stomping on the floor above us.
“I know you’re down there,” boomed a harsh voice. I looked over at Kat who was shaking like a leaf thrown about in the wind.
“Shh,” I say. “Don’t make a sound.”
Footsteps behind me. I run. Running. Always running. Whose. Does it matter? I am unsafe. Always such. Whoever is chasing never ends. Never tires. Why don’t they ever get tired. I know I am.
I hear them.
Behind me, then beside me.
I can’t figure out whose they are,
But all I hear are footsteps.
Most people would probably be freaked out by something like that,
But not me,
I figure someone must be watching out for me.
And there is something very comforting in that.