Words are not always meant to be spoken
like all feelings are created to be felt.

If a solution was beyond the path for you
would you wander, stray

onto the path of least resistance
because your comfort bored you?

Would it be as black and white or
would your clouds form to gray?

Would you stagger back, whole
with the choices made?

Does your path you had never abandon
formed with cracks and gaps?

Are your weeds eroding, potholes
tripping on the map of your path? Or

is it made of gravel, overgrown grass,
swallowing you from the journey’s pave?

Did you stop to rest or trudge on by—
as if time wasn’t a figment to our imagination.