Pathway
by Brenton Miers

There has to be an answer,
To the question that I ask.
Is my life's happenings fate?
Or some form of test, a task.

Sometimes I feel it's all up hill,
All perspiration, seemingly no play.
Is it meant to be, I ask?
Am I a fool, a child whose lost his way.

Has my story been told before?
Maybe echoes from another time.
Is it that, knocking at my door,
Are my eyes open, yet I'm blind.

Other times I get mentally confused,
About life and all the time I have used.
Which direction was my arrow meant to fly?
A befuddled mind, no answer, questions why.

Everyone has some form of purpose,
A role, a predestined fate.
Many bend the rules a tad,
And sometimes learn a little to late.

The rules; you must continue,
Find where one must go.
No matter, how many hurdles,
Nor, how painfully slow.

For you and I have a direction,
A pathway through the wood.
An answer will be waiting,
And it will be, understood.