Standing at the crossroads; peering at four horizon lines.
Do these separate paths end where blue sky kisses soft green grass
or perhaps they lead to landscapes yet to be defined.
Treasure long forgotten underneath black sand, trees without birds to nest,
islands without ocean.
Maybe beyond those rolling hills lies my future; perspective is hazy these days.
I could spin and spin around in between, yet, still remain immobile; indecisive
to what end?
The pit of my stomach is my lighthouse.
A beacon of warning; cautioning my attempts.
But, it is noted -etched into my skin- that if I stand stagnant out of fear of the unknown,
I will lose before ever beginning the game.
My life.
So I will choose a course; destiny is sewn to the soles of my feet.
I want to discover treasures of living on my own accord.
I want to nest where the trees stand still.
Let me wade crystal oceans without burden.
I won't worry about tomorrow; for the crossroads are behind me.
