poem

 Crossroad

This is the crossroads with no signs 

And no directional indicators.

To further complicate matters

You aren’t sure where you started

Or where you’re supposed to go.

You’re just in the middle,

Crucified on a cross

Of someone’s else’s roads

Radiating out into the distance.

There may be other routes you can’t see

Overgrown with grass and weeds

Perhaps this is only the center point

Of an asterisk of infinite possible paths

Referring you to the bottom 

Of the page for additional context

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