Crossroads

We stand at a convergence of black lines,

at night they turn to streamers of white light.

All destinations are chosen here,

and indecision may lead us to stray.

There is no straight and narrow path to tread,

only treacherous and winding roads.

There is no knack to finding out the way.

No map or compass, no God to guide us.

We are all of us lost travellers.

We walk with hands outstretched, blinded by light

or forsaken and misled in darkness.

Stumbling, we carry on our journey.

The few of us who find each other

band together, desperately groping,

blindly seek the way to where we're going.

Our tethers loose, we are impermanent.

Our own origins are a mystery,

we are never who we were yesterday.

Our destination is really much the same,

tomorrow's way-points may not be today's.

Though we are each of us just a moment,

blind to the consequences of our lives,

we each struggle in our time, our choices

are what make us who we will be.