I stand in the deep black
With only a match to give me light.
Behind me, spotlights and torches burn
Brightly, pointing left and right
But never in my direction.
I call to them, “This way is forward!
We came from back there!”
But they’re too far behind to hear,
And my voice is lost in the echoes
Of their arguments between one another.
I’m left with a decision:
Stand here and call to them,
Hoping they stop bickering and hear,
Or make the arduous trek back
And hope I have the energy
To bring them forward with me.