And I stood
Outside and looked back
At the glitter of electric wires
At the enormity of the black entrance
I looked forward again,
Afraid of the inside
Scared of the comforts
I had found peace in
And for a moment
I looked at my hands
Sored, blistered and cold
Cold from frozen nights
Trembling in fear
And so, with my feet
From damp floors
From rugged walking distances
I keep remembering
The darkness that wrapped me
The silence that gave me company
The walls that sheltered my head
And thus, to stay away from trouble
I ask of myself in freedom, ‘Which way son,
The old road or the road to the cross?’
Dunca9n 