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.
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