Just a title.
What’s the matter?
But a status, it defines not oneself
Perhaps the norm, at one time or other.
Is that all you have to speak, the wary route of conversation and askence?
Perhaps I’d mind not this dreaded business,
mind not this now intrusive inquisition
cringe not inside as you ask,
were the road less weary.
If the trails of conversation be as roads in the land,
Then this is the forest where lay all close to me.
Tread soft on the unbeaten path
and you shall leave no mark.
Dash along by guidance of your map
and the forest shall grow over your footprints.
But when every explorer on the land
would make the pilgrimage
though the forest,
A trail shall be blazed.
The path be cleared (of trees)
and shops will rise
as if from the earth
to walk the path
nay, the road.
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