I have no map, no boat, no stars, no instruments to help me find my way. All I have is clocks to tick down time. Even if I sit on concrete road, refuse to move, I fear this place might be the end of all I know. I walk instead with no idea where I must go. No service signs, no welcome signs, no nothing telling me my course is true.
Why am I here?
I don’t know where I’m going,
and I didn’t bring my lunch.
Sometimes I meet somebody else, we walk in step, admire the view. They often take a different fork or melt into the fog. I’m left alone to find my way.
I have to chart my own path
with no pen or paper,
no clue.
published in Contemplate
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