Metaphor

Bordering the road
I travel day to day,
is another, smaller path
that I dread to take.
I stay, trapped on my own road,
held here by the limits
of my mind,
and imagine, through the pines
and spruces
and willow trees,
what that path could possibly be.
For I have achieved the alchemist's dream
of turning worthless stone
into the most precious gold.
This smaller path arrived the day
the faults of stone all slipped away
and were replaced
by the perfection only I could create.
The smallest leap it would take
to leave my quiet road,
into the path paved with gold.
This gold only I can see,
it is still stone to all but me,
but to me, it's all glory.
Still I am afraid to take the leap,
for the gold, though it glimmers,
looks so slippery.
So unstable, in its way,
that I could never trust it
to keep me sane.
And yet, still it glimmers,
still it shines with perfection,
and though I know
it can do no good for me,
I long to see,
I beg to see
silently.
This quiet path I take,
always in view of my smaller road
paved with gold,
for though I know it hurts me so,
I will not let it go,
for letting it go
does more harm still.
-
I know it kinda cuts off at the end, but I must say, I love this poem. It flows so perfectly, at least I think so. A lot of times I want it to rhyme but it just sounds so forced. I love it when the rhymes and the flow just come naturally to the poem. Read it again!