Wherefore

Somedays I wonder 

where it all went 

and what it was all for. 

All is lost 

if the last sign is a man 

seated by the wayside 

drifting with the wind; 

aimless, and without cause. 

Where would he have gone 

had he not lost his way? 

Where else, 

and how far am I behind?

It is all fleeting, 

every moment, 

every gaze.

Away from me, 

away from haste. 

I stand for nothing, 

but there it is steadily departing, 

and all I see is a mission. 

Acceptable, 

but without certain nothingness, 

there is no hope. 

Such times as these lay wasting, 

draining away 

on childhood ambition 

and frivolity. 

What more 

and what pain remains 

is only a moment for all else to dream, 

sweetly.