Erin Thomas (Riverside, California)
Sometime ago I found myself before a woodland path;
it twisted off away from view, an ever winding path.
A weathered trailhead marked the edge between disparate worlds
where one can learn significance beyond the wider path.
How many times have people passed and turned their heads to see,
bestrewn with twigs and fallen leaves, this little wayward path?
How many times can one ignore the calling of his heart
before he’s left with nothing but a bleak and withered path?
I saw a choice between discovery and death, and so
I stepped into uncertainty and left the worldly path.
It crept up ferny canyon creeks where inspiration thrives,
and promise walked with every step along the woodsy path.
It faded though the valley’s marsh where dreams fall to decay
and wicker willows closed around to dim the waning path.
It rose to cold and windswept heights of solitude and doubt,
yet still I strove to persevere my long and weary path.
It ranged where sagebrush haunt the moon, by fleeting springs of hope,
and passes scorched by time where dreads bestrew the wizened path.
It vanished at the city’s edge and forced a desperate search
for where, beyond the steel and glass, I could rewake my path.
It wandered off among the thorns, the poison oak, the mud,
and yet with stirring vistas proved itself a worthy path.
And still it leads to spectacles that move the mind and soul
and drive me on to grasp the nature of this willful path.
Whoever spies this scratch of dirt that leaves the multitudes
will find it haunts his thoughts until he leaves the worn-out path.
To each who hears the quiet call, the journey is unique;
no other soul will ever tread the same bewildered path.
And as for me—I’ll carry on beneath the changeling skies,
convinced within my nature that I walk the wiser path.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Published in Art Arena in March of 2007.
This is a ghazal with modified qaafiyaa.
Comments about this poem (The Path by Erin Thomas )
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