Finding Our Way Out

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I wonder, do I do this for myself,
the guy who will wear a pair of pants
until frayed and holey, rather than
spend on himself? Should I care
if someone sees my rags, these
corduroy ramblings of a guy
with heart shredded and soul worn through?
Such falling red-leaf questions
come more and more in my autumn days,
hiding my path, while the daylight
of life grows shorter,and there’s
more darknessyet to record
than ink in my well.

I remember I’ve been here before,
tired, discouraged, the Panther panting
down my neck. That’s when I made tracks,
just like these, putting distance
between thorn-torn obsession and
naked oblivion, breaking a trail
no one else could see and even I
didn’t know was there.
I do this because if I don’t
no one else will, always staying
just east of sunset so I can map
the way to the next bend out of
our trackless wilderness.

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3 thoughts on “Finding Our Way Out

  1. You have captured the questions and tugs of the autumn years so well in this. This change through life is very subtle but seems to be quite universal – especially for those who listen to it.

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