A long-abandoned logging road still winds
Through wooded hills, off paved, familiar ways.
There, careless motorists get lost for days
While navigating hazards of all kinds.

That I'm off-course is just a simple fact.
I blindly listened to the G-P-S,
And doing so resulted in this mess--
Lost and alone on this forsaken tract.

My compact car was never meant for this.
How soon until they locate my remains?
My legacy will be my lack of brains
And absence in the lives of those I'll miss.

Then, just before the fear sets in for good,
I find my way out of the loathsome wood.

Our lives are like a looking glass
Through which our children often see
Their futures through the veil of time
With more responsibility.

From us they gain the will to live:
Learn to endure through hardships met,
Find that it's better to forgive
And how you can't escape regret.

Our happiness is theirs to share.
Our struggles help define them too.
Our choices are examples made
Of what you should--and shouldn't--do.

We fiercely hope they will succeed,
That we have given them our best,
And fondness taints their memories
Of times before they flew the nest.

A suitcase lies among the many things
Abandoned when the owner left for good.
Exposed to elements, old mildew clings
To fabric torn and peeling from the wood.

The dusty handle still emits a shine
In places that endured the frequent grasp
Of hands too hurried by the railroad line
To put on gloves or lock the metal clasp.

What irony! A suitcase left behind
Speaks more about the trip it never made,
Found useless for the task it was designed
When owner passed from substance into shade.

The things that matter now won't matter then.
The cycle only ends to start again.