My Own Path

Humans have a tendency to discard their own in payment for any semblance of normalcy.

 

My Own Path

 

I forged my own path. I toiled and I bled.

It was rocky.

It was twisted.

It was cloaked in darkness and the

Unknown and oh was it ever steep.

But it was my own.

Ans so, while my little mountain path

Winds and twirls and writhes, begging

My attention.

It is slowly forgotten.

And I follow with my brethren sheep,

Herded along the highway.

Further and further away from that lonely

Mountain path.

 

Reviews

[Claire's-Girl]

It is very singular in its style, and I loved the way you put the picturing of a forgotten path into the poem. It's an idea that I could spend hours pondering.