Poetry

[annwfyn]

It seemed to me I stood at a crossroad
With no road marker or sign to follow.
Only my eyes and the feeling sat low
In my belly that nothing could erode.
Ahead of me, the road lay beneath snow
Icicles hanging from stricken cypress,
And behind me there lay no more solace
That other road burnt by the fierce sun’s glow.
I am not rough and none have seen me cry
And so I turned my face and looked again.
A green path on my right, thick with blossoms
A grey path on my left, mist rising high.
I have wanted more than I can explain
But it burnt to smoke and ash in autumn.