So many faces yet to be discovered.
So many smiles still to be seen.
A constant question at the back of the mind;
Constant, like the drone of the worker bee.
So many summers waiting ahead,
And winters to wrap me in flushed skin.
Oh, the unknowable number of seasons that will pass!
They carry on their breezes where I’ll go and where I’ve been.
Two options of ground on which to stand,
To face the future of query.
Both boast love and lust and length;
Both place pain secondary.
One is stable, with a leash, with a tie.
Yet, the chain is not one meant to drag.
One is fluid, without compass or star.
There is no set direction once strength begins to lag.
Evident are the pitfalls and peaks
Of the two roads on this split.
Unclear is the prologue beyond the last page
That storybooks tend to omit.
But each road begs the question,
Between their beginning and end.
Could it be the two paths lead to the same place?
Could they again intertwine just around the last bend?