The Path (a Poem)
If I’m walking straight forward and the past is behind me,
And in looking up my eyes do so bind me
To look to the future across this here brook,
Where in the heavens should my eyes look?
Should they focus on what is behind, to
See my footsteps I struggle to find?
Or should they look at what lies ahead,
At what I will laugh at or cringe at or dread?
Perhaps I should tilt my head up high,
And shift my gaze into the endless sky, to
Flow with the direction of each cloud,
Holding my head up tall and proud. As
Those who fail to see the truths of tomorrow,
Will most certainly live a life-long of sorrow,
For what sense does it make to have your eyes closed
When doing something other than having a doze?
Unlike the future, the past is like stone,
Something so solid as to always be known, yet
Unlike stone the past stays unbroken,
Something that gives us that long-lasting token.
You’ve your past self to thank for your reflection today,
For all the things you ever do or say.
You’ve your present self to thank for who you are tomorrow,
For without yourself your core would be hollow.
So in my quest for self, please answer me this:
Of all things wonderful how could I miss
Such a gracious gift that each of us hath,
A clear cut passage that I call ‘my path’?
A blank canvas just waiting to be drawn onto, and for
Endless ideas to suddenly dawn onto.
The sole hindrance transforming this art into daze,
Is that what one has painted one cannot erase.
The sand in our paths is only disturbed,
When one’s feet, so small and curbed,
Step onto the grains and make their mark,
Yes, you, my friend, can create light from dark.
© 2010 by Daniella Wood. All rights reserved. Copying without permission is illegal and will be prosecuted.
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