The Path

Lined by forest trees, as if on guard,
the path leads ever on into the distance.
Sunlight only between the noon hours,
else dappled is the light that falls.
Shadows follow every footstep, every mile.
Sounds of nature all around, creatures unseen.

The track is a well trodden trough,
worn deep by those that went before.
On either side long grass offers resting places
for the weary travellers who chose this way.
Yet rarely is the grass flattened
by those that took up this resplendent offer.

Phantoms of travellers that went before,
drifting by as if carried on the air.
Their faces turned toward their goal,
walking silently, heads held high.
Those that decide to walk this way,
walk alone, no aid or comfort carried.

They do not walk on a pilgrimage,
this way is a choice for life, taken freely.
Discarded are the burdens of wealth,
replaced by the freedoms of choice.
Free from the troubles of man
and his religions, loves and hates.

Anyone can take the path if they so choose,
there are no restrictions, rules of entry.
To walk freely without woes,
to be free of unkindness, cruelty.
Be consumed by one overwhelming passion,
to never reach the end, and walk forever.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

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