Poem: Pathway

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not that it doesn’t matter,

I do,

sometimes to exhaustion,

this merry-go-round,

a never-ending style,

certain pains carried,

a baby stands.

It’s hard to find commitment,

I know,

when surprised by the elements

brand spanking new,

reminder of wisdom forgotten,

rejected and denied,

the baby walks.

It’s not the unseen,

I heard,

the one that whispers,

meaning it one way,

the opposite the next,

stirring in all directions,

not only up and down but diagonal,

the baby creates.