The Walker Moves On

I walk through life.
All around me is hurry,
a flow of humanity,
running hard.
They part,
passing me by.
They don't want to be
slowed down.
They curse me as they pass.
The inconvenience of my presence.
Don't I know
how rude I'm being?
But I walk through life.
I slip my hands in my pockets.
I can't help it
I say.
I try to explain,
but they are gone
too soon.
Off and running.
And I take a terrible chance,
I know.
What we are moving towards
might be gone
when at last I arrive.
See, I walk through life,
and look all around me.
How many of the runners
can pause?
The sunset,
the sunrise,
the fullness of the moon,
or none.
All the day in between,
and the black
star patterned sky.
The green of spring grass,
of oak,
of pine.
Different shades of life.
The gold of fall hillsides
has no less a beauty.
I see others like me.
Walking along.
And we share a glance.
A smile,
a nod.
For we walk through life.
And no matter how many,
moving so quickly by,
we are side by side.
Warmed by each other
instead of our journey.
For a moment.
How many runners miss it?
So I try and hold some.
The few I can reach.
Pass closer.
Let me catch you.