and I am suddenly at a dismal crossroads.
Ahead lies an all-too-clear view
Of what would be my own
Not in a century of Sundays.
Behind, the youthful pleasure
I once writhed in, obstructing the view
Of childhood grace and innocence.
The east-bound wind bears the fate of the west,
And though it chases after me,
My body and mind cannot come to peace,
And I evade collision with it.
Glancing right I see the loneliest path of all
Though provoking it may be,
As I have tasted the juice of its early berries,
It offers no redemption,
As I know not where it travels.
and so I travel with no guidance.
I walk on feet, held in the arms of none.
I look back, and the image has already faded.
Besides, time travels in but one direction.
The undeserving neighbor has won the promises
Of the paradise ahead
The lady of the west wears the garments
Of the child of the past.
It is not an escape, but a painful return.
I grow tired of walkingin circles,
So I sit inthe center and wait.
2006-10-30
14:58:59
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4 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Psychology