Life’s Untraveled Path
By: Miracle Man
January 6, 2024
At times in life each faces some decision,
and later on “what if” reveals its face.
Without giving our best with due precision,
we accept flawed thinking as no disgrace.
Often our actions go beyond risk taking,
for some risk taking is a part of life.
His chosen path had became heartbreaking,
And his life ended on a note of strife.
Written in memory
of a friend who lost his bearing,
and temporarily had flawed thinking.
Life has no exit ramps, just start and finish.
Tom
road
tan dirt
littered with
fallen red leaves
draws in its viewer
come walk around
hidden bend
in the
road
In a mountain valley
on a moody summer day
dark pink and purple clouds loftily hang
above dense dark evergreens
the clouds reflect on the narrow stream
as it winds along the valley floor
a storm is about to brew
swaying of bull rushes
that line the bank edges
among this thick foliage
delicate blue flowers bloom
this wide picturesque valley
has become a boggy area
filled with unknown dangers
no one would dare to thread
beautiful to look at
but like the coming storm
many dangers can unfold.
Individual’s individual,
summation of one
The snow always fresh,
no marks on the trail
Those tracks left by others,
a map to retreat from
Direction internal
—new spirit to hail
(The New Room: November, 2021)
Across the plains and thru the distant wood
Lay railroad tracks, once used from long ago.
A remainder of commerce, they once stood
Now thick vines overtake them as they grow.
Close your eyes, you can hear clippity clop
When the train travelled by on the steel rail
As it raced by to reach its next stop.
Now only a dredged up colorful tale.
Don’t let old age be all covered with vines
Laying still, n’er letting others to see.
You’re so much more than crooked hands ‘n lines,
Sharing your friendship will set the vines free.
With age comes wisdom, and a life to share
Keep your path open, they’ll be no despair.
I wonder what’s on that untraveled path
It looks detached from the human race
That mud-spattered trail has no footsteps
I wonder if it was ever taken by anyone
A shepherd and his sheep, a mule skinner perhaps
The shrubbery on this way are yearning for human touch
I stand at a distance to see where it takes
I stand to see this barren region and one dying lake
It leads to the mountain of fairies, people say
Then why we don’t ever go this way
It is cursed and so are the mountains, they say
I wonder what is more blessed and motherly than the mountains
I wonder who will first traverse this trail, and take away its pain
I wonder who will first leave a trace of footsteps on this secluded course
I've seen countless paths forsaken; countless forlorn roads
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