The light that glowed on my days so brightly
has grown so dim I grope to find my way.
So the trail I leave behind’s unsightly,
full of debris, no longer smooth highway.
When you hang your life on a single speck
of illumination, a lodestar hook,
should others’ clouds cross your bow, you might wreck,
in the wake of the blind passage they took.
I suppose my best hope to find my course
would be to rely on dead reckoning.
Instead of moping in doldrums, I’ll force
ahead on my own path come beckoning.
So with faith as my guide, and eyes wide shut
I’ll sail with hope and rely on my gut.