Rome

All roads lead to Rome,

But all the roads I take,

Seem to lead to you,

Like winding trails.

Round a mountain,

Branching off,

Twisting away,

Yet invariably, 

And maybe inevitably,

End at the same misty summit.

I traded those crowded streets,

And bustling markets,

For quiet solitude,

And love unsaid,

I swapped the concoction,

Of every worldly fragrance,

For that familiar scent,

Heady and magical,

Turned down the wonder

of the aqueducts,

The obelisks, the arches,

The towering white statues,

For your beauty,

Not imposing but inviting, 

Not marble but human,

Not frigid but warm.

And in the end,

I always did feel,

That I got the better half of the deal.

Rome, they say,

Is the city eternal,

But it did fall,

Not to flame and not to sword,

But from within,

And yet the roads still lead to Rome.

If our city,

Turns out to be not

Entirely eternal,

What if it is but ephemeral?

Where would that leave me,

A wanderer whose roads,

They lead, 

To a place he can no longer go.

Till then,

I will walk,

Blind, deaf, and mute,

Knowing that these,

Time weathered paths,

Paved not of stone,

Like the roads of Rome,

But of memories,

And powerful bonds,

Will lead me,

Invariably,

And perhaps inevitably,

To the same misty summit.

All roads lead to Rome,

But all the roads I take,

Will always lead,

To you.