End of the Road

 

Journeys,

Some stories begin with sparks and fireworks,

Others with the dull light at dawn

Shadows fleeting between the trees,

Birds chirping quietly in the twigs,

As the world yawning, extending its arms.

Softly as butterflies hardly making a mark,

We can glide like liquid, shaping our bodies to match.

While we watch others sculpting their form,

Forceful and coarse like sandpaper on glass,

Leaving their inscriptions for others to surpass.

Some journeys come to an end before they even began;

 Others last for eternity and never collapse,

Whose to say which kind exceeds the other,

A journey to the end of the land,

Or just a mile up the road.