Our beginning , like new life
was pure.
So far away are the days that like the horizon seemed filled with eternal promises to face
side by side.
First as friends,
then as frolicking fools
too blind to see the roads sharp fork
that would divide like a deep chasm.
Still, we rushed forward
on passions temporary fuel
hitting the first bump,
soon to be trapped in a cycle
of blissful agony,
like new life growing only to wilt
in the unceasing cold to come.
But, as a dead flower leaves a seed,
So did we leave scars,
that tells a tale to carry each of us
with the other as we move on.
Perhaps,
A lesson learned or a wound
to be examined on colder days,
that like the markers along
a journey
guides us going forward.
So as dents display the wisdom our once
fresh bodies did develope on our trip,
We learned to seek out bumps to avoid
and though we drive different roads
In opposite seasons,
peace floods me as
the passing road markers
down memory lane become
like the grave stone on that forking road
where I layed each wilted petal
of the flower on the dash
to rest along the road on that autumn trip.
Love like a fresh flower on the dash of ones first car, where freedom is found, wilts in the sun as we drive forward on our paths, someday we may pull over in a beautiful field and pick a new flower after the petals from our first love have completely fallen off and we are ready to lay then go rest in an unmarked grave
