The road is a hall of mirrors
each turn an illusion in itself
Then, as you find the answer,
one door opens, only to shut tightly once more,
giving you but a glimpse beyond the illusion
Then you wait, held back by time
over and over again.
The road is a series of stepping stones
that cross a flowing river
You wait until the water is not in flood
to patiently cross from one side, to the other,
But some only make it half way,
before the rain falls again
and the river is in flood once more.
The road is a spiralling staircase
with each turn harder than the last
Pain haunts your toes
as you reach the higher treads
The winds of destiny hold you back
and you are forced to climb back down
to begin from the bottom again.
The road is a raging sea,
and you are the log, that grips the bouncing waves
You feel each twist and turn
the rising and the falling swell
as you venture lost in time
trying to find the boat
to which you belong.
The road is the hottest desert
Where you are but a grain of sand
All around you, others are the same
Lost in their own importance
not viewing the whole scene
all existing as the same
as individuals lost but never found
When all they need is remember they are part of the desert again.
