The road 

Some roads were never meant to last,
the stones feral and fickle and more hope
than convenience put to use; landscapes.
Were we ever as naive as we were then,
laughing at destiny and the curves ahead?
The posts and signs seemed so irrelevant,
the landmarks decoration and festivity,
replaced by the comforting stillness of time,
as if growing old meant slowing to a stop.
Some say those tracks lead us to yesterday,
blueprints that sing of what brought us here.
Some say those tracks are best forgotten,
dismissed as quickly as a passing breeze.
I say they are what we want from them;
so long as our feet remember the textures
we’ll always have our bearings, even if faint.
But should we forget how the last light
danced across its face in the fading sunset,
perhaps the memories meant little after all.



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