Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

A child grows learning to follow the footsteps,
Placing their delicate toes in the creviced dirt
Of those who took a risk chasing the unknown.
Each print, a book of its time
Holding knowledge unique to its name.

Intricate designs cemented into the motherly face of the earth,
Each pore, each wrinkle, each scar,
A story of its own kind,
Of its own soul.
I stand in the depth of creation and defeat.

The path I wander is guided by the wisdom of history herself.
My feet age in character,
Aching from confusion and bouncing in the light of a young heart’s imagination.
Despite the harsh reality in discovering reality’s harshness
I grasp the intelligence to differentiate the pain that love can carry
And the feeling of indescribable compassion that can be found
But only if you aren't really looking.

Following a path already followed can only conclude in the coalescence of time
No longer is a road wide enough to bare all that it has already lived.
There will come a moment where I must decide to retrace and preserve
To follow the comforting sound of the roaring waters until my name becomes one
Alongside the crying memories of sand
Flooding into the idea of what I believed to be the promise land.

As a child, my mother nudged me to take my own steps
To not be afraid of undeserving definitions given to nature’s hidden gifts
Some of which we may call a mystery.
So I, as I come across this broken road, will chose to continue in wanderlust
Found only in the slightest hope
That one day, my footprints will earn a title worthy of their name.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the road less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.