The Road

He walks the overgrown path 

With worn out shoes

A perfectly polished walking stick

Sheathing thistles and branches

From before his feet

The sun breathes

Warm on his canvas skin

Shadowed sporadically by canopies

Of giant oaks that have seen 

Eras of lifetimes past

Surely  he steps with spent soles

That have walked this trail before

In a distant memory of a dream

Recalled in a moment of clarity

Made vivid by regret 

With each step his back straightens

His knot earned shoulders pull back

He raises his chin, face on forward

The burdens of past knowledge

Falling from his body

The loss of weighted duties and ideals

Lighten his footsteps in the growth

The pace of his walk quickens

Pebbles skipping put from under his tread

From his brow, beads born

Of Determination and destination

Drip down his time traveled face

Leaving trails of salty streaks  

On his wizened lips

Not once does his head turn back

Nothing pauses his determined trek 

Not lack of map or assurances 

Nor His worn out shoes,

To walk the road not travelled