The Walk Home V1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Posting this as a work-in-progress. I plan to make another version soon, likely to give it better flow, or something sensible.

Submitted: October 20, 2017

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Submitted: October 20, 2017



The Walk Home (Version 1)


‘Let’s go for a walk,’

Said a man to his child.

‘Son, today Imma teach you,

How to face the world and smile.’


‘How to smile?’

Said the boy to his father.

‘I already know how,

So why even bother?’


‘This is something I wish,

Someone had done for me,’

Said the man.

‘But when I was young,

I was told to let it be,

And that there was a plan. ‘


‘Plan for who, and why?’

Uttered the youth, baffled.

‘Who can say what is and isn’t,

Without themselves having been shackled?’


‘I think you confuse my intention,

For I offer nothing but life’s direction.’


‘Is life as long as this street,

But as narrow as this sidewalk?’


‘Only if you walk with another’s feet,

And remain in a constant shock.’


Said his son, thoroughly confused.

‘I want to live my life,

Without having ever felt refused.’


‘No one likes that feeling,

Even as you grow old.

That is my first lesson:

Understanding that the world is cold.’


‘How can I be,

So full of love?

Yet at the same time feel,

Detached from the world above?’


‘You mean to say,

You feel the world is above you?

Is it your mind, your manner,

Or your sense that is askew?’



Stated the child simply.

‘Merely that I am of an aura,

That does not think clearly.’


‘You outspeak me sometimes,’

Declared the father.

‘It hurts me to think,

You’re no longer a toddler.’


‘All of your lessons,

I have used well.

Although I believe it is time,

For the morning bell.’


‘All of my lessons?’

Questioned the man.

‘I only taught him one,

The rest he took and ran.’

‘To myself I think,

What is and isn’t?

To be born,

Die, then arisen?

Is there any truth in that which I told,

Or was it purely rhetoric,

Meant only for the bold?

Should I have taught him first the beauty,

Then the grace?

It suddenly dawns on me,

It was nothing more than a trace.’


And as the man waved goodbye,

And his son waved back,

It was the long walk home,

When the man realized what he lacked.


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