The journey

The journey
stretches out like an untravelled road
An unread book
A new bed yet to be slept on
A hidden passage yet to be crept
down

The journey
is the thing not the destination
It’s the travelling we anticipate
Like human freight
We like to be moving
We think it’s great

The journey
is in the preparation
and the contemplation
Sometimes the frustration
if the flight’s delayed and
we think how much
we paid

But as a child, the journey means nothing
You just want to be where you’re going to. Now.

(Written for New Beginnings, a Roundabout poetry event at Worthing Library, 28 January 2011)

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Filed under poems for adults, poems for kids

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