Life is so congested,
it's hard to pass on through.
Always thinking about me,
not caring much about you.
Filled with trivial conversation,
and trivial pursuits.
Headlong into oblivion,
fitted with whatever suits.
But there is that lonely path,
that few can travel well.
That frees the one from the crowd,
releases that protective shell.
Our track may be heavy,
our track may be light.
our track may wander,
or ply as straight as sight.
But it's our track to ponder,
it's our track to share.
Is your track on target?
Or going… nowhere?
For all tracks end.
And all tracks fade.
Will your track last millennia?
Or fade in the shade?
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the
Novel
Copyright
2009 © Ronald W. Hull
1/11/09