Sore Feet and A Destination Unknown

They always see you through.

A single step on the path of choice,
     becomes the only one of poise;

For burdens carried or dragged behind,
     the chosen road is misaligned;

Time travels swift, the goal unclear,
     as ear is bent there stories hear;

That life existing to self implore,
     to pave with gold or nothing more;

A single act when clouds retreat,
     to plead with fate, the future meet;

The eye a-round with just a slit,
     where sight can know receptions grit;

The mystery is of how it acts,
     as knowing grows with lies and facts;

Somehow showing its color true,
     when hand and foot must see me through.