The street where many feet have trod;
Young and old, simple and mighty alike;
Where some journeys ended whiles others began;
Is where we all stand.
Do you remember when it was first tarred?
How the future suddenly seemed so bright?
The place and people looking and feeling born again?
It’s the street where dreams were born and hopes awakened.
Now the street is marred with potholes;
The once beautiful stretch of land now worn out by so many feet;
Once looked upon with pride now eyed with disdain;
Forgetting we ruined it ourselves.
Every old person was once a baby;
Every relationship once blissful;
Every jewelry once lustrous;
But just as the sun must set when it rises, every new must turn old.
So as every dull ring is polished but not thrown away;
Every pothole ridden street is re-tarred and not abandoned;
Don’t throw away people and relationships because the spark dimmed;
But work them out-they can be recycled.
Don’t give up on the street that you trod on yesterday;
Because you’ve outlived it;
Make it better for the next young feet after you;
Keep it alive so dreams would keep on living.
Josephine Amoako © 2016