The Trails

A path laid out before my eyes
I had no longer wished to seek,
that simple one-track mind of mine,
replaying in my sleep.

The road was carved of idols past,
its color green and gold
the thinning lines of “… God we Trust,”
the anthem then untold.

The trinkets melted down to pass
over brick and mortar stone,
its practicality defined
by morals ages old.

And then I saw another lane,
its outcome undefined.
No feet had trodden hence before,
but aging trees and vine.

The threadbare mark of treasures lost
of fortunes thrown aside,
of philanthropic escapades
too fragile to unwind.

What path I chose I can’t recall,
my dream too distant, foggy.
I only know that in the end
I woke to dreams more comely.

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