The mirror’s clearer looking back,
reflecting all that’s in the past.
Looking forward all I can see,
is clouds shadowing what will be.
In looking back the haze is clear,
a logic deficit looms near.
For in a delusional thought,
ahead I assume a straight plot.
No complex story to achieve,
or foreshadowing to weave.
The thought is filled with lies, I know.
Still I hope that’s how it will go.
It’s always been a winding path,
with guidance from some complex math.
A higher being in control,
taking a walk, clutching my soul.
What turns loom round the corners next,
will keep me guessing and perplexed.
Who knows the next person to meet,
a friend, a foe or feat to beat?
Will I trudge on, on crystal glass?
Or meet some ordinary grass?
Where will the next grand ploy be found?
In the skies or on simple ground?
Since when has it been simple ground,
on which my feet have remained bound?
In looking back the boulders loom.
I should have seen impending doom.
But on this path I can’t return,
no matter how much I may yearn.
It’s still a winding path I walk,
yet, I am done with grim self-talk.
No matter where the path may lead,
I will obediently heed.
I can not see the path ahead,
but I have faith my feet will tread.