To lose it all.

The path ahead is blurred by shifting gray,
Two hands outstretched, both offering a ghost.
To risk the sum of all I’ve built today,
Or lean toward the choice that costs the most—
To trade the harvest for a hollow peace,
And yield the labor that I called my own,
To watch the fruit of all my toil decrease
While standing in a field I’ve barely sown.

The compass spins within a steady gale,
No map exists to chart this split terrain.
If I should lunge, I fear the sudden fail;
If I should stay, I fear the phantom drain.
There is no ink upon the empty page
To show the price of courage or of thrift,
Only the silence of a restless stage
And the cold weight of every shifting drift.

I seek a sign where only shadows play,
A needle pointing through the jagged dark.
But wisdom finds no comfort in the fray,
No holy fire to light the vital spark.
To lose it all, or lose a half in blood?
The scale is balanced by a blind design,
And I am tethered to the rising flood,
Waiting for a sun that will not shine.