Wrecked with woe once again,
Lost, within an endless map.
I wander through the "ifs" and "whens,"
Lines and dots that overlap.
Colored by a child then,
Like a crayon, my rigid mind will snap;
Looking back, the careless colors blend,
Collapsed, as the building blocks I stacked.
With hesitation, into time I look:
A mirror or maybe just a lens,
A page, or maybe now a book,
A map I wrote, but never gave an end.
So many things my meager mind mistook,
And some words I never did intend,
But, could I ever dare to look
At what I was and how I came to bend?
Young mind, twisted and tainted,
Vision tailored through a tinted glass--
Wounds within, soul a canvas painted
With my blood, and dark but vibrant past.
Picking up the shards of what was gone,
A sliver of it might be had in time;
Joy, like the grass upon a lawn,
Was once a seed, born of what had died.