At the crossroads,

Where doubt blooms beneath an idle sun,

Above a world wrapped in greener grasses,

The flocks of autumn, guided by purpose,

Give no pause, left or right,

Give no notice,

Though their fruits ripe and tempting,

To the acres of orchards, content and well rooted,

Descendants of foresight and blind faith’s belief,

That a journey exists in those moments traveled,

And choices that we make.

Stay or go

Now or not

At the crossroads,

Where fate still suckles at morning’s young breast

And thoughts are awash in the wake dreams stir up,

I will steady my step on stones as the choke

On the gathering moss

And epitaphs left to chance.

Again the day calls out direction.

Drink or drown

Sink or swim

At the crossroads,

Where the shackles of freedom are the days that follow

Those choices that we make

Devils will dine on indecision, never goose or duck,

Like fools they feast then pick their teeth,

With the brittle bones of good intentions.

Flee or fight

Laugh or cry

At the crossroads,

Where cool shades begin their timeless dance

With the swaying trees and silent clouds,

I nap in admiration,

A casual conscience tires so.

Beneath the wings of the seasons in motion,

Someplace going somewhere,

I daydream in color, what if and what then,

While time with no tasks, leaves for the past,

Quietly closing the door.