Standing On a Road at Dusk

There are shapes
     In the dark distance ahead.
I cannot recognize them;
I think they are
     My future.
But who are they, these figures?
The dust wreaks dismay on my senses.
Is there a woman among them
Striding toward me in a long, shadowy
     Cloak or trenchcoat?
Is she my lover,
     Or just another stranger?
Are they
     My friends,
          Or messengers from some dread, unearthly place?
Perhaps I should be afraid,
Yet strangely, I am not.
I will await you, strangers,
Whatever your task may be;
Here on the road, I will make my stand,
Decked in my armor of doubt,
Armed with hope and fierce

George Chadderdon © 1995