For This Is Life

I'm walking down a trail, a trail of my life.
While around me, others walk their own trails.
Most of those trails are near each other.
But some, like mine, are a distance away.

Ever so often, a trail will cross my path.
But only for a mere moment, then on they go.
Most notice me, but look not at me long.
And fail to make note of much about me.

I observe the others that I can perceive.
And see what I can learn from them.
Some move fast, others slow. Some in between.
Some move mostly straight, though some twist.

But all move forward. And none reverse.
For foolishly trying to stop Time,
Is like trying to stop a river
By standing in the stream.

I feel like I've been chosen to be a sage.
And learn that wisdom is primarily for oneself.
For given to others, it becomes advice.
And is often worth little or nothing.

My trail goes up and down and side to side.
And I sometimes feel that I have managed
to go back by going forward.
And yet I'll never reach the beginning.

From a distance, I watch myself in his travels.
He's there and yet he is not.
He seems so different from the others.
He looks at me with odd eyes.

There are others watching. So difficult to perceive.
They have reached the end of their trail.
And wait for us to catch up to them.
They seem so very hopeful.

I can't see the end of my trail.
The way is so dark. I can hardly see.
But one walks before me with a lantern.
And holds it up high.

There is a book in my hand.
I so love to read.
And this book sends the darkness on its way.
It helps keep me on the path.

All this sometimes feels like a dream.
And I'll yet awaken.
But it has a life of its own.
And wishes to survive.

I feel something tell me that someday...
All the trails will merge into one.
Each will get to review their path.
And keep what they have picked up on the way.

I hope that I have and will do my best.
I have no one to blame but me.
For I picked the tools and the way.
No one can do it for me.


Morris Cox
March 2, 2000