It happens.
There comes a time in the life
When we come to a crossroads,
Impossible to simply move forward,
Equally impossible not to move at all.
A decision must be made as destiny calls,
The one-eyed cat of the moon looked down.
There was the smell of pine and rain-wet ground,
A whippoorwill cried out with a feeling of haunting.
The limbs of tree trunks snug against autumn leaves,
Pockets of silence as night owl and insects go silent,
Each road its own horizon held up against the heavens.

I see myself on other roads at other crossroads in time,
The road once taken had a destination that felt like mine.
It makes me feel calm to see myself as a friendly host,
Walking through the wood of trees like a revenant ghost.
The moon now illuminated the two roads there before me,
They were dusted with silver as though stardust had fallen.
Unsure this time where to go, I sat myself down and rested,
There is something mysterious, mystic, about such a choice.
We have options to make, we are the pursuer, the pursued,
In no special rush, I laid down and made a pillow of my shoes.
When the night was still young and the world was forever old,
I slept that night at the crossroads, hearing stories never told.