Crossroad

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Crossroad

Sonnet

What or where is this I have woken,
At crossroads of a lattice of worlds,
A humongous traffic of force goes,
All hurtling without a word spoken.

The guidebooks have all grown redundant,
An unseen hand the mind siphoned off,
Now it knows not where or whereof,
Only lingers the will mute and resolute.

I browse the records of the pioneers,
Their living voice echoing through time.
I mark my course by their aid sublime
To navigate the wasteland of these gulfs.

This lull is now all my adventure,
In this spirit-emptied house I must linger.