I saw the word at the beginning of the path
It meant nothing to me
There were so many already there
Coming and going
Happy and sad
And everything in between

The path looked as good as any
And I had no particular destination in mind
It is, after all, the journey that counts
So I passed the sign
And joined the others
Unaware that I wasn’t supposed to be here

I vaguely remember hearing a voice
Screaming frantically
In a language familiar
But too distant to understand
I assumed the voice was for someone else

slippery path jan 2014

I can look back now
And see the sign
Having been unable to journey far down this path interdit
Able to understand what the voice was saying
To whom
And why

But, as close as the sign may be
The back of it does not say sortie
And none of the others go near it
I fear
That there is no way out
So I listen for the voice I once ignored
Hoping this time I will understand more than its tone.