As I plod along at a placid place
I ask myself most often if
My mind will ever approach that place?
If I’ll I ever be able to move along
Down that path
Be it into the summer or out of May?
“Your brightest days are yet to pass!”
Or so they say, with each differing dawn
And yet I am still unsure of such path, nowadays
Be it winding or not
How they stretch out before me, and bend at a distance
Turning just around the cornery edge
To entice my mind to stray away
How I’d often jump from rock to rock
Devoid of fear, in my younger days
How I'd fly through the air without forethought
That is until I became aware of this present day
Though still I must, and will I trust in my ginormous feet
For it is time I value, and the steadiness which is found outside
That is, I'm seemingly less capable of turning off my mind
For I am afraid of not being able to see
And witness all the beauty which is stored away
Within such paths
For its there and within that which I expect to find
This path of mine
As a memory to create down each pasture lane
Must be simply folly and waste
To ponder such things with every day
This is what I see
When the decision stretches out before me
Not far away
Like a field of green
Whereas so many others are thus condemned to a barren wasteland
Simply put
Her lushness is just one of the things
That will make me stay
I know this season will not last. Forever and always. As will the next. We all fade in time and memory. But what really matters? To me? Perhaps I will soon learn to value effort the being, as compared to just the struggle to become.
