The Fated Pathways winding down,
Or curling up like wisps of smoke
Produced from some magician’s fingertips
Inevitably, eventually, turn round and cycle back to the beginning
You’ll never see the end from where you start –
The faeries hide it –
Just like how they sometimes hide your keys
Or only one of the last pair of clean socks that you own.
It’s all a trick, a trap, a losing game –
There is no path that leads to the Land of Winning
And yet you keep on walking, just the same
Because the wind smells like an apple pie,
Whose bright apples you picked in happy days gone by
And the burbling creek by your side takes you back to the days
Of your father’s swim lessons long ago, although
Your father now lives with your Father in the sky.
You keep going because as the world grows darker
In your heart is a beautiful summer afternoon
That refuses to die.
The fated pathways tend to lead you down
To endless rooms with countless jeweled crowns, but
Into spikes you’ll fall, if you don’t recognize them all as
Holograms and empty shams
Except for the one that’s yours and isn’t fake
And that’s the one, of course, you’ll want to take.
But as for paths that lead you on to Rome,
Or which pathway might just take you on back home –
This author has no more to say, to guide you,
For this, as with so much in life,
You must walk by faith alone.
-Leslie D. Soule
Leslie D. Soule is a fantasy author who enjoys long walks through the forest.