The road drags on
Out into the vast distance
Its dust, blanket enfolded
Stretching out its forked
tongue, sometimes cumbersome
sometimes joy beyond refrain.
Often to the lowly traveler
beckoned forward out past
horizons never fathomed
snaked upon winding roads
sometimes curved, and sometimes rugged
yet no blame can fall
upon the chosen path.
All devices and illusions
brought together by our choice
from departing consequence
to arriving destination
we, not the path are its creator.
Some, though waylaid, stop
along the trail a time or two
a destination -not the goal
but rather in the journey itself.
What of my journey?
Is there joy? Fulfillment?
How often have I become consumed?
Overtaken by life’s ebbs and flows?
Can I start again? Certainly not
from the original beginning…
but I know I must and so I take
the next turn and with the breeze
at my back, I smile and take
in each breath, each moment
a gift and not a curse.
