The Parting of the Ways

His feet – decades ahead and
achingly wise – have walked
the gravel in which my soul
now tries to shine. We exist
on different planes, despite
the matched crunch of our feet
in the dirt of a shared way
that ties our lives as tight
as the blood in our try-hard veins.

We walk this way together
and
apart,
a heart’s generational divide
that finds its echo in a loving past.

He told me to make the way my own
for his shell is not mine to escape.

The scalloped cup of the silver
spoon, resting heavy in my
thankful mouth, can never redeem
the trust of its inheritance.

My pilgrimage, found
in his magnificent footsteps,
diverts in ink onto handmade paper –
two roads diverging in a wood.

5 thoughts on “The Parting of the Ways

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