Standing at the Crossroad

You told me that I would soon be standing at the crossroad
With workload, and you bestowed upon me but one choice:
Would I listen to your voice, even though I may not rejoice,
Or would I stay your guiding hand and go on my own way?
But here now I stand all alone, with no band of co-travelers,
And I am still and quiet, my tears my only diet,
And my very soul within me in despicable riot!
And withal do I hear your call or see you here standing tall?
Where is your arm to lead me down the path without harm?
Are you here, somewhere near but where I cannot see you?
Oh, too, do you see me churning inside like the restless sea?
Here I am now at the crossroad; shall I make this my abode?
But I cannot stay put here day upon day ‘n night after night;
You have to come and light the way as brightly as the sun,
For it has just begun to rain and I am in excruciating pain,
Which is plain to see, but will you deign to come now to me?
You told me that I would soon be standing at the crossroad
With workload, and you bestowed upon me but one choice,
And that I have made but I hear not your soft, tender voice,
And so I wait and satiate my soul
With sobs of my torn apart heart;
Yes you told me that I’d be standing here at the crossroad . . .

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