Like a plumb bob stretched to extremes,
You would, if you could, stop to stay,
In the confluence of past and present,
But no, you have crossed the chasm,
Stepped beyond the threshold,
of then and now, no turning back,
except to look at so much lost,
days and places and people gone.
What do you see? What haunts you?
So many empty seats that once weren’t,
Spaces they occupied, at the dinner table,
The crisp of coffee, how she would sip,
The golden when she touched,
At the closet, the aisle veil is stained,
Once of her who would stir and stain,
With love and care and compassion
Together you sowed for today.
How many kids? How many Disney’s?
Where was the road planned to lead?
Which fruit was planted to yield?
What paved the path? Did you arrive?
You lost your way along the road,
Here you found the pricks and thorns,
carefully trod, but you can’t be too careful,
There you met hedges to climb over,
But lost the energy to take the jump.
It is easier to fall than to fly,
easier to stray than to stretch,
Feet soles burned, ankles flamed like coal,
deep creases on your palms are evidence,
The furrowed face is a map, drawn at youth,
In days of ambitions, when you ran the show,
Now shown to remind, but also to teach others,
That they may know, and tread carefully,
On this broken road.
Explanation
We all grow up with plans/ Our youth is full of energy and ideas.
About what we want, whom we want and how we want.
Life however often comes to have its ways, and we can on reminisce of days of old,
Of shattered dreams, failed plans, wrong choices and even regrets.
The truth is that sometimes your best isn't enough, and that is because,
we are only agents of time, on this broken road.