am impatient with life
It is slow to move,
and it feels like everybody around me is slightly out of step,
in stating the obvious people look at me crazy,
but I can’t see their dreams, and I can’t see their hope,
just stifled ambitions, with which I struggle to cope.
I sense a something else that is calling to me,
through begging monks, mystic hermits, and pilgrim travellers,
explorers of truth,
echoes through the ages,
the search for wisdom,
gained by the sages.
still …I wonder if it is real,
or if their brand of madness simply veiled foolishness,
veiled hard, tragic, lonely ends,
void of the enlightenment they sought,
and bereft of friends?
it feels not a choice,
It draws me to it whispering its realisation through one means or another,
assuring me my plight is futile,
that I am promised to it,
and to no other.
in knowing I am destined to tread this path whatever may come,
wherever it may take me,
no matter, the damage done,
…and to the people I love,
…along the way.