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Cartographer

There is no map of this new sea
Of hope and doubt and mystery.
I’ve no time for cartography.
I do not possess that mastery.
I question everything’s honesty.
I compromise my chivalry.
The sirens they give chase to me.
A storm ensures the entropy.
My will is nothing in the wind.
In every direction not one friend.
Hope has left the crosshairs of my heart,
Replaced by a frail and wavering spark.
I can’t see if fate wants me to be
Happy or melancholy.
So I’ll just go where the wind blows,
Compose the map as I go.
I’m done selling myself short
You can’t treat life like it’s a sport
There are no rules or referees
But there are points and penalties
And if you can withstand
The ridicule and reprimand
You’ll be happy at the end
Surrounded by all your friends
It’s the horizon I assail
I won’t let life become a jail





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singingdetective said...
Feb. 1, 2011 at 10:25 am
I LOVE THIS! FANTASTIC JOB!!!!!! If I could give this 10 ten stars-- no, 1,000-- I WOULD! :D
 
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