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Where does it lead from here?

It’s a question the road directed to my feet:

Walking, standing, stomping, still.

And in a quandary they pondered:

How could it be the road wouldn’t know?

Where it ends and where it goes…

I’ve become dependent on expecting that much.

But the road doesn’t have a choice.

It is paved in permanency.

The twists and turns of cement,

gravel, blacktop, are merely illusion.

In love with the soul in my feet,

They decide which way to go.

And with all the power, she asks the road:

Carry me please on your back!

Afraid of direction, you see.

It can be lonely or dark.

A hand to hold, I’m sure is the map to everywhere!

The ever-important virile shoulder.

Control is something certainly to want,

both masculine and feminine,

but to give it away, that responsibility!

I was brought up pink:

Frilly, soft…

Accommodating to the road,

In hopes it would balance with me.

Beauty of woman, how God intended her to be,

and a girl residing inside, sweet and fragile.

So I’ve chosen to pirouette in position,

to fall into love,

give into faith,

that wherever my feet land,

they would be happiest with you.

-Maria DellaPorte Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved

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