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 

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