The Road Most Traveled

I took a look

at the road most traveled,

where my footsteps

and many others

have trampled the mud

into a circle

so repeated 

and so deep

that you can 

almost feel 

the wound on the ground

and the silent crying

whispers of defaced trees.

As I witness the familiar

compulsive circuit,

my right arm tenses

and responds in habitual ways

but the knots on my upper

trapezius, my tricep, elbow

and wrist are not

hurting right now.

I stare away from this

false impression of winter,

almost as if saying 

goodbye

and my eyes stumble into

a nice dirt road

well-kept and surrounded by life.

My diaphragm starts working

the decision to travel the road

less traveled has been made.

As I step in familiar,

unfamiliar path, I know

I won’t be the same

I will be myself