Toeing the Line

I walked on the chalked line,
Watching carefully my every step,
The world dancing chaotically,
The voices a wild cacophony.

The white-chalked line stretched
To a light far beyond the grassy hills,
Which illuminated the land around,
Serving as a guide amidst the chaos
Of the discordant, shouting voices
And the sky in its overcast grave,
Dividing misery amongst its subjects.

Though I walked determinedly,
The line seemed infinite in course,
Extending well past the horizon,
Growing thinner at each timid step.

Before me, and, indeed, behind,
Rows of people walked with fear
On the chalk-strewn line to the light,
Which streamed from a distant window,
Penetrating the tangled darkness
And evading our desperate hands.

I walked for miles and several days,
The line glowing by the light from afar,
Trudging wearily along the line,
With feet and eyes deprived of rest
And mind in constant disarray.

It struck me then, at the hour of doom,
Light and line lacerating my lumbering limbs,
That this line led only to endless suffering
And that my path had not yet been made;
And so, watching others as they trudged on,
I stepped from the line into the darkness,
Embracing the confusion and the madness,
And tracing my path along the way.