My Road


The road ahead doesn't’t have a fork in it

It does not twist or turn like the road adjacent

Only continues on and on in a set line


The stones and mortar used to build my road were not chosen

Weeds cover the surface, blocking the once unique color from view

Cracked and worn out by those who have traveled my road before

I remember the road adjacent my own

And there are times I wish for its vibrant colors and clean stones

But the guard rails on my road remind me why I am here and not there


My road is busy

There are many people who travel on my road

And I learn that I am not the sole proprietor of this road

Only a participant in its monotony  

The people on my road share the same face

Hard set in false determination

Rarely there are those who move in high spirits

Skipping along stones not covered in weeds that I cannot see

Laughing back asking why the rest of us are moving so slowly


There are rare occasions where I see a partaker to the road adjacent mine

They are not walking like I am

They are running

Speeding past even the fastest skippers on my road

Soon they are out of my sights

And soon they are back in my sights

But this time they are not running

They are weighed down

Covered by the weeds that drag them down

Trudging on, pulling the weeds off one by one by one

But eventually they cripple under the weight

When I see these people I realize

My road is the road of the wise

Not the road of the individual

The artist

The athlete

The performer

The inventor

My road is safe

My road is a predetermined strip of standardization

My road is not mine


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