Into the Woods ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Easier Said Than Done

Continue on,

at leveled or disheveled best,
but is it over the next hill,
or do I bypass the obvious,
taking to the wood --
taxed lungs and chapped cheeks
ascending meaning everything,
backing down not an option?

Or, is it better to trip and fall the bogs,
leading to the depths of a black forest,
my hands and face torn by nettles,
teeth clenched in firm resolve
even though I’d like to spit and quit?

I’m not sure which is best, or who decides.

There are no forks in the road,
Mr. Frost, and I can’t see beyond
the end of my nose, the hurt in my heart,
the silence killing my ears,
and all my good sense is lost.


... there are no forks in the road, there is only forward, and forward involves risk ... must take that road, the forward risk road ...