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June 27, 2013

It is not for this I write.
This empty
Endless drifting towards a place I don’t know
This is part of it, the corners where I turn and look
To make sure of where I’ve been.
The sureness of uncertainty fills my shoes.
Each step echoing familiar.
This would all be better with a map, I think.
And that is what I’m looking for.
The chart that tells me where to go, whether it’s on the path through the forest
or down the dotted line that leads to the sea.
The map doesn’t tell though, how the going is.
Only shows the different roads to take.
There are many roads I realize, and all that matters is that I walk.

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