It is not a crossroads,

It is not a crossroads,

The road lies,

Barely visible,

Though it may stretch

In both directions,

It is paved with metaphor,

And any truth

That may be derived is

Always at least one step

Out of reach,

Ahead or behind.

It is unlikely

Either path will be

Easily negotiable.

One has gone,

The other is yet to be,

And in the course

Of life

I have found

The travelling

To be incidental

To the journey,

Which in its

Confused, hardly casual,

Meandering,

Has over time,

Seen its share

Of pain and sacrifice.

On a day

When spring has been

Subsumed

By the weight of its

Religiosity,

Awash with significance,

The depth of grey,

And dearth of colour,

Is in keeping

With a general

Lack of purpose.

In this transition

From one

Indivisible moment to another

I may need to

Find another way

And forget the path

Too well trodden.

Perhaps

It is time to strike out

As the mood

Takes me.

Take a chance,

Play with the music,

And enjoy the dance.

Oh...precious thought...

What if... even

This approach

Still comes to nought?

How scary to discover

That no matter what

Road I choose to take

Whatever I see, or try to be

I will always find

My way to the place

I was supposed to be.