He stumbles, and pauses on the path,
For facing are the the Crossroads.
The choices are many; the right are few.
Turning, taking in all the roads.
Confusion, it's cold stirring him,
Then fustration hits.
Ponders he each.
He asks Which one?
Shall I choose God
And His hope?
Shall the answer be in drugs,
And all their life ruining?
Or drinks and fags?
With paid love
So false?
In death and it's long sleep?
Money and it's power?
Maybe the pen to vent anger?
He sits and wonders.
He is at the Crossroads