Pathfinding

White powder blows across a street lamp's glow,
A glittering, moving sheet of fresh-falling snow.
Mud pulls down on my shoes, urging me to stay.
I cannot, for a great many tasks fill every day.
As the wind splashes my face like waves on the coast,
I think of the faces and times I remember the most.
Times of joy, times of pain, triumph, and sorrow.
More of these await on and after the morrow.
No sun lights my way, the moon I cannot see.
Electric lamps reflect on the wet paths for me.
I know where to go, my goal is quite clear,
But the ways to get to it are what I fear.
Sweat, blood, tears, anger, frustration, and toil
Pull me backward and downward like the soft, soaked soil.
The work never ends, it seems; an endless endeavor.
I feel like I'll be here, cold and dragging, forever.
Indeed, the road has no true end, not on this world.
It's after this life that the truth will be unfurled.
So I walk onward, ignoring my heart's dismay.
I travel the path, hoping to find myself along the way.