William Shakespeare

what will be my future?

O muse of fate, thou wily weaver dear, dost thou not whisper soft in dreams of night? Wherefore dost thou cloak in shadows yet unclear, the paths that lie before mine earnest sight? In contemplation deep I find my soul adrift, like some unmoored ship beneath tempestuous skies, as I ponder, plagued by uncertainty's gift, which road to take 'neath heaven's watchful eyes. Shall fortune smile, a gilded hand bestow, or shall adversity cast its dismal pall? In silence now I seek the truth to know, yet every answer tugged away doth fall. O time, thou fickle master of the game, dost thou not bend thy will to me alone? Or art thou but an echo, frail and lame, a phantom voice where lost ambitions moan? What light dost thou conceal in yonder morn, when destiny's bright tapestry is spun? Shall I, in glory rise, or be forlorn, a weary wanderer 'neath the seeking sun? Thus pondering all my hopes, my fears entwined, I tread the path of life, its mysteries vast, embracing each moment, for in heart aligned, the future unfolds, a treasure unsurpassed.