My life path doesn’t run me nor walk me at all.
It is not like a treadmill where I can pass by
The same scenery, never to see something new…
Where the mind needs fine earbuds to see the path through.
Life is not like a chore I must do or I’ll die.
It’s the way that I walk or run, and sometimes crawl.

Sometimes things on my path seem to follow along
Like lost puppies, or butterflies or disturbed bees.
They are just on my path. I could leave them behind.
They will not come around again if I’m inclined
To look forward and outward with care to the breeze.
That’s a path I can follow. That’s where I belong.

When my life is a treadmill, it just does not work,
Though there’s plenty of effort and movement and sweat
And the heart and lungs pump like there’s no end in sight.
But that doesn’t quite get it. I’m nowhere despite
All the hard work I’m doing, though I don’t regret
Inner growth as a byproduct and a nice perk.