The Road With Different Endings

Who can walk the road I've traveled though not yet so far, but me? Who can compare what all I've seen to piece together the reflections in me, but in the looking glass, we contrast, when only I have. Who can say they've done the same when the task is but one to another game- and this I've lost, and this I've gained. No two could recognize the same When they have not. And who can share the well from which my emotions flow, though as yet reasons are discreet unless I tell them where to go? So when we at a crossroads meet so do the paths proceeding- wind and blind, how you perceive the light at the end of the road I keep.