Worlds collide when mountains shake the landscapes. Techtonic plates shove through layers of growth and soon the new peaks emerge. Traversing the route underfoot has been trecherous. My feet have slipped atop stones that felt stable, while other shakey steps I could pirouette. Caution signs stretch as far as the eye can see. Yet as each new sign warns the traveler that unsteady lands are ahead I push forward. Emotions should be churning in the gut microbiome but only peace is present. The road outstretched is not one of danger but of adventure. There is no map for this road - instead there are listings of accidents, vehicle damage to this road that is tucked away for only the truly lucky travelers. While I need caution it is not due to fear of the road ahead. That road, instead, is a direct path to home.
YOU ARE READING
Processing
PoetryA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
