Wandering through life, like Wonderland’s forest
The path changing and disappearing.
There are no maps in no-man’s land; your guess is as good as hers.
What do these paths hold?
Mad Queens, black rabbits, or the way home?
One path holds a tall, sturdy Oak,
Another becomes a free
through the earth.
She’s scared to jump. Climb those rocks, it’s pure adrenaline getting you to the top.
Crushing indecision – The “what-if”‘s fly like leather-winged bats in her head.
Just a lost little girl, stuck at a crossroad. St Christopher around her neck; a comfort, never a noose.
No one can guide her now, her path is her own to pick.
How can you find home when it is no longer there to come home to?