I thought I was going somewhere
I thought this was a path laid out for me
Stars aligned
And I read the signs
Packed my bags and left my home
for nothing but an empty desert.
Months of walking farther in,
trusting what had brought me this far
would see me through
the endless expanse of sand
That even though
this journey had taken me into
depression
and loneliness
this was where I was meant to be.
Till one day realising
the person walking this desert
wasn’t who I wanted to be.
Bags half depleted
Happiness fully fled
I returned to what was home.
A direct route
out of the dry sea.
The nights of my return
still brought the same stars
I’d read signs in before
But I don’t know if I’d got it wrong
or if they just weren’t there anymore.
It made me dwell on the maker of those signs.
If I’d read signs where signs weren’t
what did that say about anyone having made them?
Was there some terrible hand
writing dead-ends for me to follow?
Or was it wishful thinking
masking hollow absurdity?
Either way,
it shook my faith, my certainty.
Nomad in a lonely bedroom
Company of passersby
who used to stop for longer,
Realise that I was growing weaker,
not stronger
That while they’d tread miles of straight highways
I’d completed circle after circle
after circle
Some of them not even complete
Not even particularly circular.
Too lost
to even double-back on myself
Too lost
to ever want to find my way again
Too lost
to remember what direction tasted like.
Wasted days
followed by wasteful nights
And I never left the bed I slept in
but neither did I find my way home.
The paths it seems I’ll take next don’t promise anything
None of the paths now do
Save the one I walked away from.
Save the two I walked away from.
So sing to a deaf house
about where and how things went so wrong
Too lost
for purpose to be a place to which I can belong
Where are you sign-maker?
Not that I can ever again trust
what was written in the stars
Coincidence will forever be coincidence.
It’s better than believing
I walked away from the correct path
With life getting terrible and awful
forcing such a catastrophic mistake on my part.
So laugh to an absurd universe
held in the hands of divine purpose
Laugh because you thought yourself the latter
and find yourself fallen short.
Signs void
Three year plan destroyed
Faith still waiting for the jury to return
But damaged,
damaged at the very least.
It was easier
when the promised land was
clearly demarcated.
That television preacher rhetoric
of “walking in the promise”
meaning promised land
is good stuff.
I lapped it up
till I failed to find any milk or honey
and realised
the promised land
was birthed through fleeing and war
not spiritual satisfaction
or contentment.
I’m fleeing now
Not in a direction
or anywhere in particular,
just fleeing
Fleeing by staying in my room
Fleeing by refusing to job search
Fleeing because it’s easier than building,
than fighting
Fleeing because depression is a vicious cycle
and stepping off is hard
even when you know what you have to do
Fleeing because I am lost,
Too lost
to even flee properly
And weak,
Too weak
to fight
To even type the few emails
that could set everything off.
And I don’t know why,
because when the dust of Egypt
still coated my sandals
I could’ve defeated the giants myself
Yet now
I can’t even raise my lips to a trumpet
and walk around the block each day
So pray at divine purpose
and laugh to an absurd universe
over how I became this way
Then turn to the only one that can take control
and refuse to live this out another day.