A poem is a pathway
Of freedom from your mind
You put a pen to paper
And see what words you find
You end up with a story
From a different place and time
And experience a magic
Of a work you'll leave behind

Remember it was never about the end
And it was always about the beginning

Never how far from the finish
But always how far you came

My misgivings hide among the shadows,
In the tangle of long grass along the hedgerow
Between your wide open fields and my cultivated lawn.

Unspoken truths crowd out the spring bulbs,
Now snarled with weeds and thorned with blackberry,
The cobbled pathway which once linked my hope with your promise.

Will you meet me at the gate by the old sycamore tree?
If yes, then bring your dreams, untethered, and the dappled autumn sunshine,
I will bring my careful notions and the soft spring rain.

Prim roses and wild lilac; a velvet ash and sweet chestnuts,
Your gypsy summer, my redbud winter,
Our season, one garden.

Fields flood high of corn stalks
As we drove along with the country roads
Leaves splattered pathways in a vibrant tint
Electrifying the crisp air around us
Pumpkins grinned softly
Nesting in beds of acorn heads

Fall couldn't be any better
Than watching out the window
And laying my eyes upon the setting sun
While apple cider and spice linger in the ether
Protected in your sweater

People pave over their path and line them with billboards telling others it’s the only path of life. I’ve stepped off the cold pavement and wondered past the billboards. I have found moss warmed by the sun under my feet and flowers lining either side

Have you ever reached a crossroad in your life and with complacency or with fear of what left or right offers or entails, at high speed powered on, only to find it was actually a T junction?
Only then you realise that life has no reverse gear and that some walls are very hard?