I’m drawn toward the crusty, clanging gate
While only yards ahead, an easy wall
stands stalwart, sturdy, rock on rock, in wait
for someone just like me, to heed the call.
A metaphor for problems that befall
and plague our humdrum, hapless times,
To heed the beck’ning of the wrought-arch portal,
Or opt instead, for rigid, rock-stacked climb.
It’s hard to know which way would yield sublime
returns, suspecting welcomes may be traps,
Perhaps it’s better to advance unseen,
And thus avoid a perilous mishap.
My caution is a fault, yet I believe,
Our choices matter, once they are conceived.
