I have an answer
but what was the question?
I see the result,
yet what set it in motion?
I speak to my soul
was this fate or design,
an echo, an omen
of what I might find?
The wheel of all time
keeps turning, unkind,
spilling out futures
at a moment’s notice, unlined.
So ,I search for the fracture,
the root, not the blame,
tracing the spark
that first lit the flame.
Where will this road
finally land me?
Will I rise in the light
or drift where I can’t see?
What will it cost me,
this choice, this stand
and who will I be
when the dust meets my hands?
I pause.
I breathe.
I choose what is true.
And I ask
what if this were you?
MARYANN BOSAH 