Paths Are Paths—right Nor Wrong

In this labyrinthine strange world of thine, Of lanes and bye-lanes, I may make or miss The path that leads me to right, path of bliss, Which, when I opt for, hurdles seem to line Up; to my left deceit and doubt do hinder, Compelling me to turn where I'd ere gone, Or worse, stand still clueless my act to mourn, Whichever way I go, goes a grave blunder. Embarrassed of embarking on many A mistaken lead, burnt fingers, tired toes, I've a self-taught lesson learnt uncanny: Paths but paths are; no one right or wrong goes, One that weaves no waves in your tranquil lake, Simple and straight, be the path aught one take. __________________________________________________ This sonnet has been born of my discomfort of living in an increasingly intolerant world. __________________________________________________ Sonnets | 22.11.08 |