Lines and a Clock

In the emptiness of a room,

filled with mundane things,

a man ponders

…lonely…

about the lines of his life.

He rejoices and cries

looking at every turn,

remembering the decision

of each detour he took.

In his mind, he looks at images

reminiscing each moment lived,

happy or sour,

mute or loud,

that shaped his trunk of memories

which could have been empty

without the choices he made,

the taken steps

or the footprints set.

He acknowledges every fall

that came with each rise,

all the scars left in his heart

that made his will stronger,

the twice many kind acts

that kept him going whenever lost,

and the treasured, sweeter deeds

that helped bare the wrinkles of life.

And, while he may not know

the length of the path in front of him,

the tick-tock sounds of his pocket clock

draw a smile as he thinks,

“keep walking and placing mile marks

until I wind you no more,

and worry not my dear companion,

for my path bears no regrets.”