by R Ross Johnston
Riding toward me upon a fickle breeze
of rapidly approaching chaos,
I am now able to recognize
the song of the boldest of these
bearers of the news of impending loss.
They have borne to me many lives.
Passions race franticly, beyond control,
through the frozen shadows of my soul,
rising from their long repression.
Each new day, against vain objection,
leads yet another unwilling step away
from the path which I have strived to stay.
Far away from the person that I have known,
identity dissolves into embers alone.
Each wayward step leads from my chosen journey
toward a place without path, without destination,
a staggering course to which I do not agree.
I tread into the white haze of disorientation,
where dream cycles are not so easily
distinguished from cherished reality.
Dreaming, yet, soon again will I be awake.
In my dreams I have clearly seen the red door
which permits a welcome escape
to heavens where I long to soar.
I must dream and through these dreams I know
that I may not step in the direction
of the red door until I have lightened the weight
of the many unsatisfied debts that I do owe
through sincerely offered restitution.
I must forfeit my pride to an uncertain fate,
welcome relief from a burden so cruel,
and freely admit that I am a fool.
I am a fool,
a fool greater than all my many brothers.
Yet, even fools may stumble into good fortune.