A Path. And Another

A path. And another.
Spring summer winter fall.
City streets. Mountain trails.
Clearly marked. Not marked at all.
A few self blazed.

A path. And another.
Some your own. Some belong to others.
Few of them had maps.
Most had a destination, generally reached,
never satisfying, another notch in the belt,
preparation for the next one.

A path. And another.
Wide Roads. Narrow inlets to the forest,
to the sea, to the sky, too often into the morning fog.
Finding my way only after arriving.
Some left you winded. Some left you wounded.
Still, you walk. Always, you walk.
There is no hurry, only paths, journeys,
the destination mattering less the longer you live.
The journey meaning more.

A path. And another.
Until the day you die.

About this poem

I have mentioned a time or two the past couple of weeks that for some reason I am looking back, reflecting on life so far. So many paths. Goals met. Goals failed. Places. Jobs. Relationships. Creations. A spirit’s rise and fall and rise again. So many paths. Sometimes I feel like I have lived half a dozen lives so far.

With more to come.

Tom

PS – The picture is from one the road I take each day on my way to my favorite diner. Prints, posters and copies of this image may be bought at Fine Art America.