I'm not really all that mysterious

not finding

were I not to find
that which I most desperately seek
what would this life be worth?
not nil, I pray
even in this half-existence
can I not steal a few drops of
reflected sunlight
from ghosts and phantoms
of things that could never be?
like a half-starved cur
begging at his master’s feet.

through bone weariness
I have toiled
even through the lonely night
I kept vigil
past the dizzying confusion
of a million thoughts
like thread
like spun cloth
woven, tied, knotted
haphazardly sewn together
then rent apart

and in this darkest hour
when my soul quivers
my heart quakes
knowing that all is lost
(but can you really lose
what you never had?)
I am hopeful.

the road never ending
(though my journey will someday
cease, unfailing)
like a tattered ribbon unfurling
before me
meandering, twisting
lost in the mists and shadows
over the ashen hillsides
where the lichen and the moss
scrabble greedily for rain
seeping into the desert sand
onto the barren plains
of scrub and tumbleweeds
past the the bank of drifting fog
disappearing amid the storm clouds
ere it comes to the horizon

and all the distances
I have trodden
still the road goes ever on
and darkness has always loomed behind me
while I go and chase the sun

and still the days unending
like bricks or tiles
lined orderly upon the calendar page
as if fleet-footed time
could truly be captured
within this black-and-white
prison of lines and numbers

10,000 sunsets
(and how many rainy days)
and I cannot conceive of the end
still hoping that I might continue travelling
so long as I do not find that which I seek

what a devil’s deal that would be to live on and on, beyond all bearing
as long as I never discovered
that for which my heart so piteously yearns and longs

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