The Road

The old man sits on the edge of his seat quiet in manner with words you can't beat dust swirls, his inspiration in the clouds at the stroke of his pen, he can silence the crowds. the young man stands in the nook of the room anxious to be seen but always swept by the broom, he blows away with a shutter and is lost in the sky right then, the old man leaks tears as he begins to cry. as dusk turns to night and the stars show their eyes the young man floats down and passes on by. at the front of the porch the old man now resides he watches the young man take leaps in his strides. astonished by this amazing feat the young man has got him up out of his seat thinking of things that could and will now be he follows the young man on an un-found course he'll soon see. the young man trembles undoubtedly into the unknown briskly walking on thorns and reaping what he has sown. going further and further down the barren road baring the burdened weight of an undeserving load. calling to attention the sunrise as the morning has now arrived, the young man turns bewildered by the silence to see the old man quiet in manner, but revealing his guidance before them is the course that's much less trodden but as they walk, it slowly begins to broaden. their days journey turns again to night, two paths now lie, one with no light. the young man whimsically follows the path lit by torch to find at the end, the old man sitting on his porch. the old man sits on the edge of his seat quiet in manner with words you can't beat, the young man stands at the top of the porch stairs "father you've guided me home" he proudly declares.