At The Cross-Way Poem by pedro moshood

At the final point, we stood by the by-way,
Beside the highway, when I felt
His palm perched like a bird, resting perfectly upon my shoulder.

Each time he patted me on the shoulder blade
I felt it registered the memory
Of the trust I had misplaced in him.

He knew things were no longer the same,
Even though he chooses to stand by me at this time.
He knew I had given him enough grace,
Waiting for him to change his ways one day.

Can I still hold on to what he claimed,
Or choose to remain with him
That had held me lesser when I held him dearer?
I had waited all along before this moment.

But now, we stand on the pathways that define what we ought to do,
That our ways can no longer be the same,
And now is the time to leave
And hope not to see each other again.