My crossroads is a lonely place.

I know the question
but not the answer for the
brave heart.

Jack Kerouac claimed that he would always choose the mad ones, but
which is better: to flare bright and see the light die all the sooner,
or to bank the embers and welcome the long, slow burn?
Either flame could catch the house alight; more likely that
both will fade cold into the dark.

Am I the sun, or the hearth?

And what better test than this,
the heart’s old desire against a new
and potent love.
Which is the dream?
Which is the shadow?
Go forth and the road becomes stone;
but the soul cannot be torn forever between two paths, lest
it grow mad, or dull.
The future is hidden by thick fog
and the smoke from an old fire *******.
Alone, I move unto the precipice and fall...



(But later- much, much later-)
Heart’s path grows clear.
Soon, a step.