Returned to center of my being.
Branches of lives lived and paths taken,
to great heights and greater lows.

Sweet fruits of honest labor.
Crushing careers that killed the soul.
The familiar fit of odd jobs.

Shared paths of love, real and illusioned,
intersecting... becoming blurred,
till only perfect first remembered.

Faces of forgotten friends
grown quickly close;
The best ones... gone to soon.

Highways woven to battles lost and won
against friend, foes and self.
Street fighting warriors of webbed roads.

Like veins carrying the fluid of life,
forking off, full and falling away...
lost in rivers of time.

Numbingly, too numerous to number.
I have been many men... yet always,
returned to the center of my being.

© Sep 23, Michael J. Nappi