I thought to walk where paths would not be found
without a journey’s end or course in mind,
but in the sand of stark and broken ground
another’s print was left for me to find.
I’d thought to pass where none had ever been,
yet here was proof of someone else’s step.
Though whims directed where my path should wend,
it was upon a trail another left.
As water runs, it finds its winding way
until it pools in ponds or lakes or sea.
In streams that seem to wander as they may,
it follows courses drawn by gravity.
The fullest, rushing flood is yet constrained
to flow in paths where least resistance stands.
Wherever water flows a bed remains
that will direct another flow again.
In my imagination concepts formed
which seemed original, unique to me.
I thought I’d ventured far beyond the norm
until I read the same philosophy.
I realized that even private thoughts
are guided by some common, shared design.
Although originality I sought,
I stumbled on the paths of other minds.
Within this world the path one takes or makes
will cross the mark of someone else’s tread.
The scattered rains and snowfall’s wafting flakes
shall find in time their streams and riverbeds.
The varied intellects of humankind
replenish wisdom’s ancient watersheds.
Our feet or streams of consciousness we find
have gone unconsciously where others led.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
its just how i think
