[Newspoetry] Path marks

[DL Emerick]

Outside my door runs a samll path
it leads to places so far unknown
and some to which I've gladly gone
and come back, dusty, to my bath.

No matter how I wash away dirt,
the world still clings to me,
and beckons me to come and see,
the wonders there, alive, alert.

On many days I resist and refuse
to let myself explore and play,
but sit, restless, night and day,
watching the clock pass by its use.

Moments arrested are memory jailed,
but moments empty mark time failed.