I don't know...

spinning out of control
my mind is always spinning

shimmers of pain and confusion
dominate my every thought

I can't handle it
it can devour me at an instant

when, where, why?
questions I ask everyday

limbo is my residence
madness is my destination

is this it?
this is all I'm supposed to be

where do I fit in?
or do I fit in?

All by myself....

If only it were so simple,
to cruise through life smelling roses;
but the obstacles blacken the countryside,
and we unwittingly crush them beneath our boots.

Dreams sustain us through the madness;
goals give a finish line to our race.
Yet they change with every turn, around every wall,
and remain elusive throughout the quest.

Mistakes are made, and regrets are our luggage;
we will drag them with us to slow us down.
The victories are flashes of light, sudden and unlasting, which allow us
to glimpse the road ahead before darkness descends.

Love is bitter, yet it is the bread that keeps us.
Over and over it fills us up, only to starve us.
The people whom we love shape our destinies and our strengths,
yet leave us cold and alone in the darkness.

There are others trying to race to the end;
occasionally, we bump into one or two.
The bonds we form help us down the path less lonely
but eventually, we lose each other in the darkness.

Alone is not a bad way to be;
it clears your head and focuses you on the journey.
Cherish the short intervals during the quest you have with others,
but be prepared to walk alone in the darkness...

Letting go...

There is many a time
You seem to read my mind.
But in the end
You can't know what I intend.
Your view of my actions
Are clouded by your past attachments.

Your memory guides your comprehension.
If only you could change the definitions.
Erase the imprints on your heart.
Make a new start.
Allow me to ease your misery.
Let us make our own new history...

Tearless sorrows...

She looks into air, herself falling rain
Dripping coldness past, memories old pain.

Drops fall, the puddling her damp water-life.
Spiralling a mirror, self-lonely strife.

A sigh, one frown, crying soft saddened tears.
Storms of remember - through bleak yesteryear.

Clouds a-whorl, dark sky sheltering fair heart.
But how can she joy, while taking no part?

Covering cold soul, corona of defence.
Defying the stab of her fate's intents.

This is madness, she thinks in plaintive cry.
I'm here, on the cusp, of lay down and die.

What my destiny, but an empty-off dream?
A plaything with which gods and angels scheme.

Am I doomed then to live, time never-free?
Subsumed wholly beneath life's scattered debris?

Is justice, outside this torrential doubt?
Perhaps more than sorrow, painful fall-out?

Is love, perhaps, just a sliver of sun?
Shining through mists, revealing Avalon?

Personal paradise, which I can own,
Evoking happiness, hither unknown?

She raises from streets of lonely no more.
Light slicing through darkness, hopes washed ashore.

Her withered gait now straightening with pride.
She glides like an angel 'cross future's tide.

Belief in life renewed, no, only found.
Footsteps echoing, a cadence of sound.

Caressing the ground, sing the beat of her heart.
Into the sun seeking love's brand new start.

Wishful Thinking

I cannot speak for all who stem
'Long roads less travelled as their way,
Nor question choices made by them
In days long past or nights long dim
by words they spoke and did not say.

Each road is long, though short it seems,
And credence gives each road a name
Of fantasies sun-drenched in beams
Or choices turned to darkened dreams,
To where each road wends just the same.

From North to South, then back again,
I followed birds like all the rest
Escaping nature's snowy den
On roads I've seen and places been,
Forsaking roads that travelled West.

This journey grows now to its end,
As road reflections lined in chrome
Give way to roads with greater bend
And empty signs that still pretend
They point the way to home sweet home.

But all roads lead to where we go
And where we go is where we've been,
So home is just a word we know,
For where we want to be again.

For even home, it seems to me,
Is still a choice we all must face
From day to day and endlessly,
To choose if home is going to be
Another road - or just a place.