Before you was set the path,
What you were supposed to do? Or was it,
What they said you were supposed to do?
But you didn’t like being told what to do,
So you wandered off the path.
And years went by
And you never stopped wandering
You never found your own way.
But before it was too late you looked back,
You saw your foot-treads,
And you also saw the path.
You saw that you had wandered over it
quite a few times in the many months of your self rebellion
What was it like when your steps intersected the path?
Those were the good days amidst the confusion
There was the light, or hope of light, in the darkness of wandering
And for once, for the first time, you wonder,
Was the path really what they said it was?
What I thought it was?
And who made that path?
Why was it set before me?
What is down it?
by Daniel Triumph.
This is a different version of a poem I wrote half a year ago.