Always in want
A pursuit of something that’s always a nothing
vacuums the heart
so that peace becomes death
and death is life
and life is tempting
But it’s an uncertain living;
ethereal and god-like,
or regressive and primitive
Which way to go,
up or down?
And what if there aren’t ups or downs
but only sideward ventures
that’ll leave us guessing forever?
These are the crossroads.
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Comments about this poem (Crossroads by Wicked Mike )
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