• What is this? I think.
    For what I stare at
    I do not blink.
    My path had been split in two,
    A broken road
    And a road of perfect true.

    When I look at this broken road
    All I think of
    Is the grueling load
    One had to carry
    On that broken road.

    Would I want to take this path?
    And know the work
    And feel the wrath?
    Or is this road the true way
    To live one's life
    I must say.
    Because all though the work may be hard,
    It's all worth
    Playing the card
    To live the life you've dreamed
    And in the end,
    This broken road's not so bad it seemed.

    What about this other one? I wonder.
    This road, so fine
    Never touched by thunder.
    Its perfectly flat
    No bumps, no cracks
    One could easily be tempted by that.

    But is this really the road that's true?
    A life so perfect,
    One that someone would not want to undo.
    I think to myself, Would one ever feel pain?
    To only feel their own happiness
    It's almost plain.

    A real person knows other feelings too.
    They know the hard work
    It brings through.
    But they also know how much worth it brings
    They take in the happiness
    And spread their wings.

    You must be thinking I am mad.
    That everyone would want to live a life full of happiness
    And a life never sad.
    But please listen to me here:
    Life is never perfect.
    There are always tears.
    That perfect road could just be a vision.
    Not really there,
    Someone's imagination.

    Back and forth, I stare.
    At these two roads, I compare.
    But finally my decision is clear.
    Towards the broken road
    I go near.
    Invisible bumps and cracks seem to trip me,
    I fall not once, not twice
    Not even three.

    But the farther and farther I go
    Down that broken road,
    My wings begin to grow.
    Until finally I am able to fly
    Higher and higher
    Into the sky.

    As I fly higher into the clouds,
    The broken road completely disappears,
    My mind it never shrouds.
    But as I take off the grueling load,
    Once in a while a memory appears,
    Of that broken road.