Hung up the phone with a touch,
Looked left, right, left, right, left,
Should I make forward step,
Or remain standing place?
It’s those words that came washing,
Faster than I could duck,
Hit me straight in my belly,
Nailed my feet to the ground.
Tumble dry cycle low,
Thoughts of regret, despair,
Echoes memories warm,
Cold breeze words freeze in air.
Crossroad four ways a point,
Each direction ahead,
Moving forward only choice,
Going back unaccepted.
Road ahead is bright, clear,
Any which of the ways,
Keeping eyes straight, no fear,
Make the move, own the change.
Where will I go next?