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Chad Horner

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since May 2017
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The Path

May 24, 2017

My mind is afloat with many ideas,

Thoughts are ignited inside the eye of things which cannot be erased.

Can this path of life lead to the place that I can call home,

or is this something mysterious which I must venture alone?

 

Life leads me to places that I am destined to visit,

I have no control over this and I cannot miss it. 

I see many faces, some familiar, some not so familiar;

And I think to myself what can this mean to someone so similar?

 

Buildings, churches, towns and cities,

Are these all of the places I can relate to so easily?

A hundred years from now all this questionning will no long have meaning, 

Then I must focus myself on what I really want myself revealing.

 

And now the journey has come to an end,

I have reached the pinnicle,

My heart beats, I am one;

I am what I was always destined to become.

 

 

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