In stumbling along life's path,
Struggling to put one foot in front of the other,
I want to keep my steps straight,
But my vision isn't clear.
I keep losing my step,
I fall into the thorns.
There is a light to guide me,
But my glossy eyes cannot make it out.
More lights appear of a different shade,
I know that they are not the way.
Still my feet will turn from side to side,
How will I finish my race-
Hills attempt to block my view,
The trees conspire against me.
Sheets of rain weigh me down,
The chill of darkness steals my breath.
The voice of the Lightkeeper cuts through the fog,
But grows quieter with my delay.
Amidst the sound of other calls,
I lose my way in darkened halls.
The musings, laughter, anguish, and tears of a Stickman living the life drawn for him by the Artist. "I must learn to serve the Artist first, His pen directs my path. He breathes life into these worn-out sticks, And stickmen will see at last."
About Me
- MRJ
- Poor. Student. Firefighter. EMT. Kind. Optimistic. Shy. Dreamer. Fool. Happy.
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