I'm lost, not in such a form,
that I don't know ways back home,
But in the sense that the road is forked,
and I'm standing all alone.
I know the man that gives the tour,
thru this winding, twisted place,
But He hasn't spoken, in what seems like years,
I can't recall His face.
I've turned down a road or two,
that I thought was clear of doubt,
To find myself back here again,
whispering, "But how?".
I expected markers on the way,
to give me some degree,
Of where it is I'm going,
or where it is I'll be.
But the question that still lingers,
I feel it growing still,
Is this unknown route my doing,
or is it all your will?