As the pages
Of another year
Are written
And turned
We pour
Over them
The diligent
Accountant
Looking for
The errors
That must be corrected
On our records
So often we
Build walls —
Shrines to our
Failures
Rather than
Raising temples
To myriad
Accomplishments
The roads
That become maps
Of where we’ve been
Never the map we plan
For the road
Is paved by the pebbles
Of small decisions —
Unclear Impressionism
Until you step back
From the time spent
Nose down
Trodding onward
And look from
A distance
The many miles
You have travelled.
It is easy
for the road
To be washed out
by the river of misdirection
But for now the sun
Still rises in the East
And sets in the West
And one foot must precede the other
We carry on
Hand in Hand
Together to see
What this next day will bring.
