If man is an island, then what am I?
A penninsula with only one escape?
A river that cannot slow myself?
A mountain, cold, dark, and alone?
A valley, flat and non-descript?
A stream, trying to not dry out?
A desert, devoid of any life?
No, I am none of these things.
No mountain, no valley, no desert.
I am a highway.
Barrelling down with no seeming end
But a thousand exits on either side.
Which should I take, the left or the right?
Should I continue on 'til the
Never coming end?
Yes, I must, or risk my fears,
Becoming an island with nothing.
Author notes
Written July 14th, 2006
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