The Wandered Path

The Wandered Path

Sept. 30, 2010

Do I wake up to live, or to die? Uncertainty as certain as any other aspect of my life. Hope is held regardless of how futile it seems to be. Some days I keep the motivation to achieve my aspirations, but I keep my reservations for lack of inspiration. Undriven to be driven while these burning decisions are churning in this moat I call a train of thought. Yet I keep on chugging, at my hair constant tugging, my soul I’m always lugging, by my side. Wish to be inside at edge of each new tide, and each night that I cry—I am. Peer in open windows, while eyes still moist with tear show, into this journal write what’s known. Into these shoes I step, not full but set to spill. Unless esteem takes shape and becomes real—I will fail. Hunger for no food, but for someone just to do, exactly what they must to make you smile. Once upon a time, cliches spun into this rhyme, hurting ears and hearts each line until the end. But what is that but truth, real or as uncouth, as any could subdue before my tooth became a stain. Marking every single grain, of hope before the end of words draws near.


The Wandered Path "Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

This is where I share with you the wonders and non-wonders of my world.

"It's a dangerous business stepping outside your door. If you don't keep your wits about you, there's no telling where you might be swept off to." - Bilbo Baggins

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