In my mind,
gilded portals,
rude gates,
are an open 
invatation--
unknown branches
of  fates.
They fade
to shadow as
I pass--but
others etched
into the wind
arrive as I
reach them.
Possibilities lure
the pilgrim soul
from his goal
who has
no compass,
cardinal points,
or guiding star.
Many will praise
a mind grown dense
with cast-off creeds.
but I prefur
a narrow road,
a narrow way,
the certainty
of conviction
to countless
shades of gray.
Some will claim
my path false,
without ever
treading it,
Simply because
I chose it
unassisted.
Truth is
not a quest
for a soul afraid
of being much alone.