I sit here staring at a blank page
who do I think I am, writing
these bits and pieces of life
that have no real meaning.
Every sentence an agony
as I dig deep within the mine
seeking those few nuggets
of the journey I’ve been on.
It’s walking across hot coals
of broken dreams, an odyssey
where the Sirens call haunts
and the temptation of Circe awaits.
Troy is ever in my mind
the broken walls, the burned city
of relationships and loves lost
the scattered wastes littering
the path that I have taken.
It’s not the destination, they say
but damn, the journey is hard
it has to end I think, in the words
that I try to write as the cursor blinks
my own little Cyclops, taunting.