A turn in the road

I came to a turn in the road,

one I had not seen before

though I have taken this path many times.

In the fog, I could see what I thought to be

signs of my past meeting my present

speaking to one another in whispered tones

to take me somewhere I had not been

in whole, but in part.

The trees lined the path and the fog my feet,

the smell of the field wafts across,

such as I thought it might.

In the darkness ahead

I could see not shadows,

but true forms of my being

telling me that I had taken myself away from myself

and in so doing had lost my way.

But I do not know this path,

and I do not know the people who walk it

though they call me by name

and reach out to touch me as I pass

as though I have meaning to them.

The turn in the road ahead asks me to know

who I am and what I choose to become.

Does it matter now, or at the journey’s end?

What I am is what I have become,

and in that I must find peace...

So I walk along, unsure

and more fearful still with each step

that in walking this way I mislead myself

but cannot know this for sure. 

Each step could move me further,

further towards or further away

from what I should become.

And in the end then, I might become nothing

and have made no difference for having lived.

Greater than I have asked,

but the following silence gives no meaning,

what matters? 

The journey walked

or the journey’s end?