The Road

I ask myself is the road, that I walk upon. Was it built before I took my first step?  Or is it built with every step I take?  Some parts smooth for easy comforting traveling. And thee other rough, laden with sharpe  stones, that pierce my feet, with my every painful step.  The scale of the road, equally balanced. One part smooth and soft, and the other filled with pain and sorrow. And no section of it could be avoided. To get to the end. You have to go through something.  Lord I come to you with tears in my eyes, the makings of the joy and pain that abides in my heart. I say I have been walking this path for a long time. And I am weary confused and afraid. Because with every step I take, I have no knowledge of what lies in wait ahead.  Or know which part of the road, I will confront, will I meet friend or foe. I am naked and bare footed, I am tired, and disoriented, and I am in fear of taking another step. As  my thoughts moves forward, in questioning anticipation of what lies ahead. And I am crying out for guidance, leaving a puddle of screaming questions, where I once stood and bared my soul, on this road.  I drank from my tears, pressed in the vineyards of joy and sorrows. I am thirsty on my travels, I have more taverens to attend. Drunkenly I take staggering steps, shall it lead me home. Or shall I fall face first, lying just in reach of no where. Just in reach of new beginnings.  Just in reach of a new spring of tears to drank from.  Just in reach of new challenges. Just in reach of the end. I am tired, yet I am tenacious, and I reach and I drag my worn tattered, soul over the finish line. And I find at the end  of the road. That it always starts at the beginning.