Backyard of Time

A poem about where I'm from and where I'm going, all can relate.

Sitting under a grand old maple tree,
In the back yard of a house full of memory.
I read a dust-covered old book,
It’s beaten down pages now a crisp, yellow shade.
Every time I turn a page,
It’s another leap through time.
A world far beyond my own,
A world quite unknown to me.

Before my time I know not what happened.
The men and women who make up my flesh,
Walked this earth not knowing, not caring,
That one day I’d awaken with a breath.
I’m told to follow in footsteps,
All of which I can not find.
Big shoes to fill, they say,
Big shoes which I have never seen.

Left alone, with only words to guide my way,
I close this book of ancient history.
I know neither where to go, nor who to follow,
Only with faith can I begin.
Here are my roots, as are the roots of the grand maple tree.
I revel in the past of my family, their history unknown to me.
With a set of blind eyes I travel forward,
With an open mind down a path so unfamiliar, so undefined.