From A Descendant Of Sages

I feel as tho still a child of youth;
wondering if I’ll ever grow;
I feel the sting of my own rebuke;
praying others never know.

Failure has been my wayward path;
even tho, as a child, I believed;
I feel I’ve incurred the Master’s wrath;
it is only myself, I deceived.

In this kingdom, I did very little wrong;
and yet, I also did little right;
I just settled in; and tried to go along;
as life became an endless night.

Was I simply guided by circumstance;
or did destiny have it all planned?
How did I come to enter life’s dance;
why can’t I understand?

What purpose caused me a destiny so vile;
living all alone; with no one to care?
I feel I’m convicted; without even a trial;
in a prison cell; with no one to share.

How did my thoughts turn into a feeling;
what gives our thoughts physicality?
My mind senses that my body is reeling;
dizzyness confuses reality.

Am I merely a collection of words on pages;
a solitary leaf, falling from life’s tree;
or am I the descendant of the Master’s sages;
writing poems of love and mystery?

Monty 10/31/24. # 2,418