The Road Home—Wyatt Dalton

I travel down this road alone,
driving home on my own,
and pass by the roads I’ve never known
on this set course I know as my own.

Which leads passed places I’ve never roamed
and faces I’ve never seen,
belonging to voices I’ve never met
and people I’ve never heard,
that all live lives
more alive than I.

That’s the way it seems tonight,
looking in from the outside
and wondering if their life could be mine.

Or shared at least
if I left this path and turned down that side street
to meet the people with voices I can’t place
and face the faces I fear to face
and take a moment out of my “busy” day
to go a little out of my way.

Maybe, then, I wouldn’t be so alone.
If I stepped out of the car I wouldn’t be driving on my own.
I would be walking in this new place
side by side with a new face,

and maybe I’de find that this unknown road
still, somehow, takes me home.