The forked road that ends the same.

They will call upon you.  
Strike you down in your time of question and yearning to learn.  
Still, you will walk forward battered and weak, senselessly wobbling in direction of your heart's true colors. Only to be shown far worse beatings.  
 
Your fellow man, true to hold dear. After each mark upon your skin you will gracefully hold their hand. Faintly whispering words of compassion.  
 
Maybe you're the depiction of the other side. Never tenderly captivating the masses with what kindness could be. Burning the hills, striking the weak.  
 
There are no wise words in life's infinite chaos. Just moral views of what is thought to be right or wrong. Collectively our wounds upon one another and the earth, scraped clean. Meaningless, forgotten indefinitely.  
 
When the time comes we all reach that final moment of breath. Will you weep in regret or smile contently?