poem/prayer for Trinity Sunday

at the
         crossroads,
   i could keep
      going the route
      i have been
            traveling
   all these years, with
      no end in sight,
      no benchs where
         i might rest;

i could go
         back,
   retracing my steps,
   hoping i might
      be pick up
      all the pieces
             of life
      littering
         the sides
         of the road;

I could turn
         towards
   that street which
      (with its broad
       tree-lined walks,
    houses so freshly painted
    they look brand-new,
       and lawns which will
       tolerate no weeds)
            looks
   too good to be
                real;

or
      i could simply
      turn down that
               way
         everyone warns
         me about,
   following you,
   the family playing
            leapfrog,
      splashing noisily
      through every muddy
            puddle,
   building a kingdom
   from all the discarded
         people left
      by the curb.

(c) 2014  Thom M. Shuman