Fork in the road.
Life has a funny way,
Of pushing people by.
Some on an assembly line,
Others learn to fly.
I myself am not so sure,
To which way I should go.
Some say a "path less travel'd by,"
But to this I will say no.
This pathy wood the writer found,
How did he get there?
Wandering from path to path,
Without a thought or care?
I myself would see the start,
An optional new way.
And wonder as I saw the trail,
Is it worth the price to pay?
To wander through the briers,
Where no one else has been.
Some may have tried this path before,
Some husky valiant men.
And down this path you say to go,
To perils I can't see,
Just because this path less trod
Seems valiant? Not to me.
For I came here not to wander,
Nor to be a long lost soul.
I wander though the longest night,
With a purpose and a goal.
So writer of the poem,
That likes the shrub and thorn,
Trail blaze to your heart's content,
Until another path is born.
But know that where you're going,
Is wherever you will be.
Because ending up just anywhere,
Isn't good enough for me.
