Journey

I stand on grounds
Not of sturdy foundation,
But made of watery substance,
A liquid state that,
Tends to swallow,
Sinking me deeper and deeper.

What sense of hope may I conjure?
When my mind is not trained to discover
light in the midst of darkness?

I rest in a state of assumption,
Ready for any form of calamity
That might befall,
A needless pessimism maybe?
Not if one is trained to see shadows
That lurk in the night.

But this sense of dissonance,
The constant state of alerting deficiency,
Makes life a topsy turvy,
Always on the lookout for
The bad in good.

Sometimes I wish for life’s fickleness to disappear completely,
So that navigation would be more of a linear path to make,
Less of interpretation,
And more of an enjoyable read.

Though I pray for a more solid foundation to tread on
I walk more in line of an uncertain path,
One that will only make sense,
When I look back at the steps I once made.

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