Crossroads

Going out of my mind -
it tickles, it burns
this promise of future.
Stiff like a board
each morning I wake.
The threats of tomorrow
bearing down on
my young-too-old shoulders,
leave me feeling guilty
of crimes to be proclaimed
by a jury ready for hanging.
Me or them?
Nothing tells nothing,
I read signs and portents
like the Sunday news,
but the censor and sensor
can't seem to agree.
Crow call, cuckoo call -
which way and which
direction my dear?
My head spins a compass
and the magnetic pull
of destiny and chance
tug a war with my soul.
Yet I can't live in fear.
Will not stay here.
If not up, then at least
I'll move on.
If not victory, then at least
I'll throw down.
And it will be
a merry-go-round.