What to call it?
The thing that moves me,
Compels me to extend,
To make myself vulnerable,
A risk of body and soul,
Allowing wounds to mend.
What to call it?
Echoes of truth,
The urge to unveil,
To shed the masks,
Walk it’s path,
Catch the wind’n set sail.
No course,
No map,
No compass,
No shining Northern star,
No direction,
No conception,
Of what lands I must travel near or far.
What to call it?
The twists and turns,
The trials and triumphs,
Of the journey without a destination.
Me, myself and I,
And each of my six senses,
Point me towards the end of ends,
My highest capitulation.
-jb
