My Road

I find all too often,
Far too often,
So much it makes me sick,
How easily I slip into forgetting
To stop regretting the Road I walk -
Remembering that its what makes me tick.

Its not always flat,
Not always straight up, down, or all around.
It curves and dips and flips.
So much so that I become addicted
To getting a copious amount of wisdom-filled tips.

How do I walk my Road?
Let me count the ways.
When all is said and done and walked,
No matter how gawdy or raggety the illustrious costume I tout,
The crown I wear for walking my beloved Road,
It all comes back to placing one Foot in front of the Other,
And breathing In and Out.

No one else sees me on my Road.
They only see me,
Wafting about here and there.
What on my Road feels to be a devasting deep-cutting blow,
To them appears as only a gashy tear.

It always surprises me to hear the questions
From those that know me and see me often.
Questions of how I fair,
As I stand there.
For though they see not my lovely Road,
They do on me see its wear.

No matter how small the gesture,
No matter how soft the touch,
When one acknowledges a shift in my demeanor,
When one reflects to me what they see,
Inside I take a knee,
And thank the gods that someone has really seen,
Me.