Through a blizzard of thoughts, and a snowstorm, I stumble over the dirt road.
The wind pushes me in one direction, a sign points toward another.
My cracked compass begs me to turn back.
And I want nothing more than to halt,
To stop running in the rain, lost in disdain and so much pain,
To quit; I know my grip is slipping, at every turn I feel myself trip,
Conflicted, afflicted.
Constricted by my own fear,
Deciding to reside in this confusion, the frustration of my lost conviction.
Petrified, I feel my fears solidify as they deny the rights to my own vision.
Staring at my fractured compass,
I see no reflection.
I see no perfection.
I see no definite direction; I see no reason to keep running.
I summon the courage to look up one last time, blind, unsure of what I may find.
I look up ahead, and eyes meet mine at the crossroads.
His eyes hold rebellion, a guiding flame I had lost long ago…
“Come with me.” He offers a reassuring hand. “Let’s walk the rest of this road together.”
Somehow, I know to take it.
I shatter my compass, letting the wind push us to wherever our road may lead.