Paths

Paths

Eric Campos

I am a wanderer of the paths before me,

A humble traveler.

In the stillness of ponder, of woe, of agitation, it comes:

 The urge to venture out, to meander the paths before me.

                                             

The route is never known. The turns, the crossroads, are all possibilities.

To go left or right, forward or backward, the road simply tells me.

It does not shout, nor command me this way or that. It only offers me the path, many paths,

Towards an unknown destination. To traverse the land before me.

The sensations, so many as I tread.

To walk abroad, to dare venture into the world,

To leave behind the dread, the fear, the sorrow, let them stare as I move in spite of them,

Thus I am free, the world keeps moving. I am at peace.

I do not fear the open road,

Nor the questions of left or right,

I seek the insight in myself,

And the path to cross comes into sight.

Some paths may weave, and others diverge another way,

And I the traveler simply turn and climb and sway with the road before me,

For the true purpose lies not only at the end of the road, but the path itself,

The journey. The story to tell of the day.

I am a humble traveler,

Wandering far and wide.

The road is ever my friend, the path its gift to me,

The path of possibility, of opportunity,  

The path that is free to walk, and think, and dream.