Sometimes the feet are unwilling,
caught between fear and desire,
shadow and light.
So they stay,
immovable,
staking a claim to one spot as if that
will make
everything right.
Sometimes a little joy comes along,
forging ahead
without regard to the end.
“C’mon, c’mon,” it cries to
the feet.
“Time is short. There is much to do.”
For that moment, at least,
all things are new.
Sometimes we find the will
if not the way.
The feet move
from one moment to the next,
each step
a small victory of sorts.
Karen Lee Kleis 
I like your new poem. I wish I could believe it. Nice poem though. Nice pictures too.
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Thanks! Well, I do believe in it many ways. We have to find a way to keep going. Small steps can sometimes yield major results down the road. But we often have to act without really knowing what the ultimate result of that action will be.
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Very true.
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Nice piece
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