A Different Path

by Brian Emerson
It's time to go, to leave this place
A shadowy voice does cry.
But the voice belongs to me alone,
And still I wonder why.

The time is here upon me now

Like a weight, heavy pounding.
Or has it Lifted? Hard to tell
The Questions keep arising.

The unknown awaits, as it does

For foolish few who dare.

Is it foolishness?

Curiosity perhaps?

Or something I'm not aware.

For I am scared and poignant now

More than ever at present.
Tears cloud my eyes as pen meets paper,
And I hope for my ascent.

I leave behind what I comprehend

And even with all communication.
I know for now without doubt,
I drift, en route a new location.

But who's to say what shall pass

And what still lies ahead.
I only know that were I'm at,
I'll yearn 'till forever dead.

Yet for now the flame still burns inside

However daily dying.
To light the path less traveled by
In haste I'm already striding.

But am I running from that I cannot?

Escape from oneself is ever brief.

Before we are again confronted,
Hunting for relief.
Yet still I follow my perilous path
To wherever it might be leading.
And well it may, onto something new,
And strangely more inviting.

Or perhaps not . . .

But who's to know, not I as yet

The fate of anyone on this Earth,
I wouldn't like to bet.

For life can lead in many ways

Often now undesired.
Fate can deal a cruel hand sometimes,
But we play on, cold and tired.

And art is born of life

Hard, dejected and trodden.

Hence emerges exquisite beauty,

And some direction from the coffin.

Finding it is a difficult thing

Sometimes left without thought.
But time it ticks, and years they fly,
I'm sure it can't be bought.

So we search, as do I
For things that bring on the 'morrow.
The weak are those who don't pursue,
And languish in their sorrow.

Happiness is that I chase

And hope to find someday.
I'll count the means again I'm sure,

There is always another way . . .