The older I grow it seems
I understand less.
Each day shines upon avenues
beyond the next bend.
Some flaunt trees of gold,
others, streams of tears,
The first lights my laughing lamp,
the other, hides a cloak of ashes.
Gray firs guard the way,
each avenue waits
for the traveller who will enter their gate
and learn the lesson taught.
Each fleet moment a storm rages...
do I stay? Do I turn?
The avenues send me on
but often I stand.
Fearing what lies before me,
I choose the older roads.
Hiding my eyes
and only seeing the lessons of the past.
Those who linger in the way
churn black waters
That extinguish the light
and fill the avenue with darkness.
A Voice calls me forward,
away from the lane
Which I would soil by reluctant feet...
May I find the morning.
A new dawn rises
and, remembering the forest
I yet face light's burning,
glimpsing diamonds in sorrow's stream.
If I once again traverse
the avenues of yesterday,
who will see the stream that trails
among mighty oaks of tomorrow?
So I set my face and press on
to the misty avenue before me.
And wonder if it will be the path
that leads me Home.
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