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.

(c) Google Images.

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


4 Comments Add yours

  1. kmankata says:

    Thanks for sharing. We ought to keep hope alive. We have to keep believing and help polish in our own ways

    Liked by 1 person

    1. joseyphina says:

      Yeah, exactly. I’m glad you could deduce something from my ramblings😉


  2. Amanya says:

    The streets,they give me life, heal me.
    Walking them with music playing on quiet cold evenings.
    A short and nice post.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. joseyphina says:

      Thanks, Amanya. ☺

      Liked by 1 person

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