I’ve reached another fork it seems,
a juncture where the signs
are hard to read,
a bend, a river that has curved
and narrowed to a stream
that’s not so swift or clear.
I wonder now about these dreams,
this current that has carried me
so fast, so far, so many years.
I wonder–has it run its course?
Did the rapids pass their peak,
sigh into a quiet pool
without my recognition?
Was I so distracted—or asleep—
I failed to feel the subtle ending of the ride?
Did the heat of day, the guiding light
just disappear, letting night fall where it may
and all outside my line of vision?
The questions really serve no purpose,
moot indulgences at best,
self-pities some would say.
Regardless of the routes I took,
the faded map of expectations,
what remains are the decisions.
Will these dreams be laid to rest,
put to bed or in a book
for others to believe?
Will some ‘reality’ replace
the old horizon, some resignation
fill the void of the old reasons
or will these dreams defy all odds,
survive some predetermined test.
Is there a prayer still on its way,
wandering a certain path,
waiting for its season?