Lost

Lost in the jungle again
with only my wits for a machete
Cutting away the parts of my life
that make no sense.
or block the way
Hacking away at the extraneous
That obscures my vision
of what it is that I seek

And I go on searching the unsearchable
seeking the unseekable
making a mess of my like for something
that may only be in my head
How can I balance the injustices performed
When I don't know the outcome
Or what good it will do the world
when I find it sitting there

End of story

Can this really be the end?
So much I've searched for that's still not there
Is this the end of the story I am
With so many unanswered questions, bare
Out where, my friend, out where
Someone or thing out there must know
Will I ever know their plan?

Why I was part of this puppet show


How can you look for something
Unknown, un-shapen vaguely tease
I listen for a sound, a knock
but only hear an unseen breeze
I'm looking for someone
but I'm not quite sure who
Just an empty vacant want
with unease that fills anew

What is it that I need
that I don't already possess
But driven on I go with
no concrete notion of success
what it is I seek, if only just
a glimpse of some cause or goal
sacred or profane, it matters not
More ignorance than knowledge fills my soul

Can this be all there ever is?
Now and then happy on some random day
For no matter what I find
Eventually I lose along the way
And how quietly calming is the end
with nothing left I once held dear
Can this really be the end
Quietly resigned to faith or fear

Spring's trick

From my mind lifts winter's clouds
Devilish tricks, a carrot of spring
Leads me on, epiphany, to where?
Who asks what the fates bring?

Certain that if just more clear
Through the murky waters see
The answers I seek, I hope
Not more vague ambiguity

Some basis for this medium
I seek, In which we all exist
But can I ever know from
within the medium, that's the twist

Spring's trick is my endless hope
That one day the puzzle solved
And I can say for certain why
Our circular paradox evolved.

But truth is an evasive maiden
Whom catch I probably never will
Is trying just a waste of time?
When more fertile grounds I could till

And yet, it keeps me alive, waiting
for another day to waste in wonder
contemplate the uncontemplatable
what others deem unworthy of ponder