A Lonely Mission

Trust.

A mangled, twisted idea in my head.

Enveloped by madness,

Drowning in despair,

I don’t know it very well.

Cusp of confusion,

Trying to escape the illusions,

But fooled by so many delusions.

Angels in the side rooms,

But perhaps not.

Tying knots in my brain,

My spine cracked and broken.

Can I rise to the occasion?

Kicks in the backside

Make me want to cry out.

“Stop! Let me go, you ghosts!”

Heckling me from all directions,

Connecting me with witches and warlocks

Of the strained backwards messaging,

Hidden in all the lovely music

By which I am entertained.

I must find my way back

To the path of lonely existence,

The one full of resistance,

The journey that calls my soul,

Whether or not I feel

Like going up onto the the mountains,

Or descending to the valleys.

I am one who believes in a mission.

I am called to meet an expectation,

From those full of compassion.

I care about my calling,

Though sometimes I am unappreciated

Because it is not patterned

By the stuff that is established

By those who are recognized

As geniuses and experts

Of the kind that set the standards.

Can I make a mark of my own?

I can only believe in myself,

And the spirit that fills me,

Makes me full of satisfaction.

I can only know in my heart

I am on my own path,

The one I have created.

So I continue to whittle away

On this dirty limb of life.

Some day, some day.

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Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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