Take a walk through the park,
a few steps in someone else’s shoes.
Never knowing where you’re going
or how you will get there.
Who needs a map
when you’ve got nothing but time.
Tell yourself it’ll be different this time.
Life changes and grows like the oak trees in the park.
We aren’t given a map
to tell us where to go, just shoes.
We walk, and we get there;
wherever it is we’re going.
In a world where everyone is constantly going;
the hustle and bustle constrained by time.
Each person concerned with their
own path, winding through the same park.
Barely looking up, eyes fixed to our shoes
as if somewhere in the leather lies a map.
A series of dots and lines; a map.
Keeping readers on course as we go,
wearing down the soles of our shoes.
Trying to find that Thing in the time
we are given to walk through this park.
Nothing else matters as long as we get there.
You are here, we are there.
If only you had followed that map,
the one you lost in the park
that night he told you he was going;
needing space and just a little time.
He left you standing there staring at your shoes.
Leather, wood and laces, these shoes
that should have taken you there.
If only you had enough time
and that damn map.
Instead you find yourself going,
wandering through this autumn park
Though your shoes are hardly worn, you park,
Stopping right there, to redetermine where you are going.
Nothing but time, the crumpled mass is left and you go, sans map.
