Urban Path

Urban Path

This path is an urban path
Railroad tracks and stones from far away
With metal brackets and screws
Beer cans and cigarette butts
And an overriding smell of oil and tar.

As I hear the cars rumbling below the overpass
And feel the shudder of the concrete bridge.
And I just know that this path is beauty
As I throw away my judgments
And pull up something unconditional
From deep within my beating chest

This path is quite possibly
More real and more relevant
Than the paradise within the woods
That I'm always seeking to walk within.

I climb down from the tracks and my path changes
To a trash and tree-limb-strewn creek bed
That has been hidden from me until now
And from most people in this city
Except for those who are the more cast-aside
They have always known of this beauty

And a stone speaks … a flat slate stone
That tells me her horrible - and wonderful - story
Of where she has been
And the things that she has witnessed

She is so very grateful
Telling me she is ready to come with me
That I am the first to acknowledge her being
That she is ready for her next great adventure.

So together we continue on and marvel
At the beauty of things never called beautiful
At the beauty of this urban journey.

--Owl