The Road

The place that is walked so often
Where whispers become one thing abandoned
Heaven has never looked so sweet
Nor has it been the place that I would greet
A palce to walk is what a road is
Not to find a final edge of restful placation 
Such cannot be the location of one's choice
That which cannot be the outcome of placement
Thine pressure and presence cannot be mollified
Only understdoo and embraced by a wise populace
Tis this heart which brings each step more strength 
Each pose some more power and even more to the gift ridden
Such is to spy
Barren is the search for methods
What a place
That is grace
When knowing lace
This which is called the Road.