Crossroad (Poetry)

I dreamed a signpost where the road
was crossed with one that snaked away
to left and right, made narrow where
the arching trees touched, tall and grey.

Its words were faint and hard to read
I thought I was mistaken when
the way ahead led straight to DEATH
it seemed absurd — I checked again

but sure enough, the weathered sign
its four arms pointing compass-straight
marked out no towns on any map
but bluntly gave a choice of Fate.

Alternate roads considered now
ran roughly drawn from East to West
one hand towards LONGEVITY
the other carved out small SUCCESS

I dithered as the sun went down
and shadows lengthened as I stood
debating on which route to take
when both these options seemed quite good.

Yet neither promised happiness
and once I’d time to think it through
the thirty years to DEATH seemed far
the wiser thing for me to do.

So, mind made up, I journeyed down
the scenic road dreams travel on
and left the crossroad far behind —
its signs misleading, fading, gone.