Poetry (words)

Fork in the road 

Finally amidst the chaos came a fork in the road. A standstill, time to assess. For what seems like forever I’ve felt like part of an experiment. A puppet in someone else’s hands. 

The fork: This way or that way. Neither forward nor reverse, but left or right. Everyday there’s been less of me, slowly I’ve been fading into this creation, unwittingly following the carefully manufactured lines. 

Logging in, logging out. Trying to convince myself that it’s all part of progress. It isn’t. The fork is just a metaphor, a stage reached, a point of change. 

I held a dying creature in my arms and felt it leave this existence. Turning points always have a catalyst, a defining moment. Like a lightning bolt through your life. 

I realise how so many things that once seemed important are just flotsam and jetsam. How you give so much of yourself over to the competition, you get lost in it. 

My fork in the road: Isn’t forgetting what’s past, but putting to bed what can’t be altered and making changes to what can, because living vicariously is not living at all. 


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