Blood of Past Mistakes – Original Poem

I don’t feel well; I’m not sick
Not in pain
Claustrophobic is the word I chose

Ironic, in a world of endless possibility and millions of miles of path to take, I am confined by this diseased body

No diagnosis to bring me down
No hospital needed

I’m not wounded, but I taste the blood of my past mistakes

The only truth I know is that I know nothing more than the day I was born

All will be well I am told by the angels singing on the radio
They are words constantly in motion, spinning on the turntable out of control in my head

All will be well

One day I will rest, never to turn to the left of darkness; nor the right of the light

I chase love because it is an unattainable illusion
Still my feet move toward something
If I don’t stop; I exist

Exist; be; contribute

Dust will cover these footsteps, but I will still run for the sunlight dipping under the mountain

I will keep searching for that treasure chest that will unlock a fortune of virtue

My dripping blood will track my path back home to the place I was born and the place I will call my eternal spirit

For now, I will rest this weary body and wait for a spark to ignite another journeyman’s road of infinite undiscovery

It is cold in the heart of summer

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