Like a pilgrim searching for some unholy answer,
I am not myself but part of something more,
You might call me with conviction a desperate chancer,
I’d not dispute it,
Time will tell if it’s my fatal flaw.
I may have chosen this path I walk,
But the path I walk is not mine,
Through the light and the shadows which I duly stalk,
I look up to take the turns, sign by sign.
Sometimes lit by a dazzling neon glare,
And sometimes dusky with the dawn,
Sometimes lit by a warm rising sun,
And sometimes dark, when all seems forlorn.
There are many who walk these paths,
But few like mine.
It’s at the crossroads with another soul where the brightest light does shine.
Yet seldom do these paths run in parallel,
And as I peer forward from that junction which lifts my soul,
What of the love for which I fell,
In the gloom ahead I only see a toll.
To bathe in the light that washes away every shadow,
Is to find what any other man should crave.
Their lies the pilgrims burden,
It’s not my life I’m here to save.