by Christine Adams Beckett

Crossroads, yellow wood
Steering wheel, never could
Avoid lines of a path
Deeply lined with roots.

Choices grooved
Etched from hooves
That matted the trail
With nothing to prove.

Like a feather on air
Carried for fair
Lacking control
And choice, to bear.

Abraham’s will, his alone
With Isaac’s blood, sin atone
Ignoramous, with free will,
Humanistic, cast a stone.

Avenue behind, structured
Interrupted, minute fracture
Forced by nature, power of self
Entrusted, personal rapture.

Boulevard disappears.
Pasture lands, grassy years
Gently separate, give way
To bare feet, and joyful tears.