There's something I've learned about winding lights and strange cement-carpeted trails leading off into darkness.

Sometimes they lead to twisted beds of blackened souls who grovel at the feet of those less than them in integrity and vigor.

Sometimes they lead to bright lights with dancing and voices lifted up in harmony, if a little generated, unreal. A place of fraud and laughter.

Occasionally sunlight brushes the snarled earth and enlightens the breadth of vegetation beneath the feet of the traveler. Rubber and metal have no hold here on this temporary plane of soft deterioration.

One could look here and there and make choices, decisions. Some good, some bad, all of them important, all of them necessary for the bizarre and nonsensical sensation we have deemed 'life.' Cruel, beautiful life is, like the sharpness of a glossy sculpture crafted of ice. Prickly to the touch, unforgiving as stone, but with a beauty the hungry eyes devour like crisp raindrops absorbed into the thirsty earth.

So what of this path? Here where eyes are allowed to wander, feet told to stray. Which direction to be chosen, if at all? Here, where one is meant to be lost in transit to stay, only to lose yourself in suspended time.

Just trying to decide where to turn.