Jaded Path

Walking this path a purpose without direction.
I see to a future in each direction I turn.
Step upon step into multiple futures.
My bearings are focused on nothing and forward.
Each foot precariously yet systematically placed upon each ledge.
The path narrows here and widens there.
Insecure footings marked by hasty retreat.
Must move forward.
Wincing at the pain of each fall.
Must move forward.

A sturdy precipice and I gather my thoughts.
Directions overlay maps of internal destination.
Worn shoes barely comfort each stride upon broken choices.
A quick retreat again and down the next path.
This maze is my life.
An overgrown hedge hacked into trails of fear.
Must move forward.
Burning muscles pushed beyond their limit.
Must move forward.

This jaded path laid out before me must not control me.
I cannot allow the noise of destiny to cloud my judgment.
Nor the rumble of acceptable norms to defeat my purpose.
There is no destiny.
Only destination and achievement.
These paths are mine alone to follow.
Must move forward.
Life becomes lived with the passing of each step.
Must move forward.

There is no past to support my return.
To back-step each history brings no new days.
That path is done.
Somewhere up ahead lies that precious goal.
Destinations unknown but with purpose I proceed.
A goal with no set direction but forward.
Must move forward.
Burning all my energy until I can move no more.
Must move forward.

Lost at Sea

Lost at SeaSomewhere between the yesterdays, todays and tomorrows I have become lost. It seems as though only yesterday everything was so beautiful and perfect. But again like the endless tides, I have lost my way as the waters withdraw. The search for self, confidence and wholeness washed away again. Stranded on a bar surrounded my a billion fluid paths. And then the tide rises again to find me standing out too far to swim home. There is no turning back. There is no desire to turn back. I do not have the strength or the will to swim so far against the tide.

So I let it wash me further and further. Each recession I find my feet tenuously planted in the now. My mind grasping on to hope. My eyes seeing out to the horizon. Standing so tall above the sea of change I can see a horizon. The distance eluding me, but still so far away. The tears come and the tide returns again. My head barely above the surface. Each breath is guarded and unsure. It may be a while before I can breathe again, when the waves come to swallow me and pull me further down this fluid path.

The waves come. They always do. My horizon lost to the towering menace that threatens to take away my lungs. I manage to keep some strength. Tired and beaten with every set. My only horizon is coming at me again and again. Faint glimpses in the distance as each wave crests. I feel my feet no longer touch the bottom. I am in deep water. I am in an element from which I was born, but cannot survive. Unless…

Unless I can keep swimming, treading water, occasionally sinking to the bottom to rest my weary arms, legs…soul. Hoping I never go so deep that my lungs will burst and the surface will never come. It is so dark near the bottom. It lonely and cold. And there is no one to save me if I falter.

Beacon of HopeFaint glimpses of light between the swells warm my resolve through the burning in my eyes. I do not want to fail. I want to keep swimming along this path and resting with each falling of the tide until I can go no more. It’s all I can do. It is surviving.

I am only surviving. I ask myself with the approach of each tide, how do I go on? Should I even try. So many others have made it across this vast ocean landing in the new world. Discovering life as they have never known before. I have no compass. I have lost all maps. I follow my star in hopes it will guide me to that new land. Hoping… that when I stop and sink below the cold darkness that I will return to the surface to find my star. Hoping it is the right star.

Fear sets in thoughts of the star only leading me further out to sea. I am so tired. I am becoming disoriented. My arms and legs are so tired. Like weights of unwanted emotion and despair they struggle to keep me afloat. I must not lose focus. I must continue to breath. The tide will leave me on a bar again soon. I have to keep that thought.

And there is always the hope, dim, so very dim at times through the fog day and night. The hope that my star will turn into a beacon on that distant shore I have traveled so long and so far to reach.

But now I am still Lost at Sea.