I fear that I may end before I finish
Or finish but not well
That I should stain Your Honor,
shame Your Name,
grieve Thy Loving Heart
For a few, they tell me finish well
So, Father, let me get Home before the Dark
And let me finish this race with joy...
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I sit down to write, my thoughts churning inside my head,
There is a pattern to their randomness.
They scream for freedom, for written proof of their existence,
Alas- if only I could read them.
A thought begins, another cuts in,
The train of thought is being derailed.
I want to give way to expression,
Only to be waylaid by more confusion.
I type the words, but thoughts overtake me,
I ain't my own master- the thoughts are in control.
I see a picture in the end- but it has never been so unclear,
I try to find the pieces to make it- I grope in the dark.
Is it necessary to make sense, to find the central idea?
Or is it good to let my thoughts overflow?
I do not have answer.
All I have are more thoughts....
Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart."
- Confucius
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