At The Cross-Roads Poem by PHIL WINTER

Standing at the cross roads
I look upon the lesser species with envy.
They come into the world
Exist, procreate and die without fuss.
Consciousness does not tempt them
To question roles in life,
But from my human stance, I wonder
What heralded my presence here on earth?
What purpose do I serve?
Do I comfort men, women, children?
Should I sit in an office
Behind a desk of steel to push pens,
Rustle paper and give orders to juniors?
Am I to fly bombers, pull triggers,
Be a hero of war?
Should I socialize among the idle,
Hallucinating troubling thoughts away
With sniffs of illicit drugs?
Do I mingle with bums,
Drowning misery with sips of cheap wine?
These are the inner conflicts
Which fling me to the crossroads.
And as I stand there
Trying to analzye situations
And reach conclusions
Life hurries on
Leaving me more perplexed
Within the chambers of my mind.