rocky lantern
Each sunrise, a new turn,
a path unveiled in mist.
Yesterday's choice, a wall,
looms behind, cannot be kissed
again.
This way, or that?
Familiar brick, unknown stone.
The air thickens with maybe,
with what-ifs whispered alone.
A dead end.
Sunlight catches dust motes dancing,
mocks the stillness, the frustration.
Backtrack.
Search for the glint, the echo
of a forgotten direction.
A flicker of hope.
A scent of rain on dry earth.
Maybe this time,
this turn will prove its worth.
And if not,
tomorrow the sun will rise,
offering another maze.
quiet mortar