Seems I do find myself here
when the threshold is clear
when each boundary is crossed
with every coin at last tossed
For fate never seems to mind
while I rejoin this quest to find
a way to make any true sense
in between future and past tense
Since every single decision
is but another small incision
another cut in the bolt of cloth
another candle for this moth
Left here crossing back and forth
from east, west, south and north
I am a wanderer without a chart
just an artisan without an art
Facing this vast blank page
trapped between every age
discarded on a desolate shore
holding out for something more