What in hell am I doing here,
Lost in my anonymity,
Surrounded by indecision,
At times sinking in my own self pity.

Life's sweet moments, are the sweetest I've
Ever known,
Coupled with bouts of depression,
Interspersed among my mundane moments.

Existence is for the sake of existing,
Nothing more, nothing less.
Aspirations of importance pervades all.
Few achieve, most while failing,
Do not fail, but attain that level
Which we all must rise to.

God, if I will understand,
That having been, I will ask
No more.
Having seen, I will see no more
And having loved,
Be loved forever.

There are some stories, quite old,
About going prospecting for gold.
I'm sure you have heard them before,
As they are now part of Western Lore.
Searching through forests and bare hillside;
Walking most always but an occasional ride.
Searching and searching in rocks that erode,
Looking for the very elusive, "Mother Lode."
Hearing these tales, while around a fire,
Trying to determine if true or a liar.
No one will tell you, where it is found.
Only one place, deep in the ground.

It was at 5, in the morning hour
When a flash of words, did occur,
As I laid in bed. Four lines did emerge,
Written in my mind; no compelling urge
To arise from my toasty warm bed
And write them down, while in my head.
Alas, they are gone, far away from me
And now lost. No longer my reverie.

When the winds blow in, from the sea,
That is the time, I want to be,
Out on the water; the bounding main.
But alas and alack, never again,
Will I return to the sea.