Lesson Learned, another old poem of mine

Now, life throws me a curve ball, it feels like 2 tons, un-expecting it, all the weight lands on my chest.

Under the pressure, moral values break, life or death is a constant mental battle.

As the pressure is slowly chipped and worked away by friend's words, I find myself in a desert.

This vast desert plane lacks any presence but my own, in which I am finding myself needing guidance but alas, none shows.

The only things I come across is the constant yellow and brown sand.

Constantly mocking me are mirages, memories, and faded oasis'.

These mirages and memories comfort and kill my soul at the same time.

But I must move on through the desert, seeking the next oasis of comfort, and sometimes joy.

As I wonder through the desert, I look back on my life, and realize that this desert is nothing new.

I have always been wondering through it.

I see my smaller foot prints scattered around me, as if I had been there before.

The foot prints are common here, closer to the oasis they are near, but none lead to the same oasis.

I see the oasis of past delights, I want desperately to visit them, but alas, my feet will not take me in that direction.

Another piece of my soul is chipped away.

So I must, as it were, continue through this desert and try and find the next oasis.



As I continue to look back I see that the oasis I loved the most, is but a puddle now, destroyed by another treading on my dreams.

I long so much to stay in its comfort no matter how much the pain hurts me.

But I am not wanted in this place of serenity.

Exiled, I try to move on, looking back, sometimes crying, and sometimes just moping forth through the desert.

The destruction of this oasis hurts the most.

I had hints of its destruction before, but things were looking better, but how would I really have known, I was blinded by love and ignorance.



It seems as if God had placed it there for me to live off of and then destroy me with, almost as a way of punishment for some unknown crime.

The oasis shows me the potential of return in its reflection, however, it is far from ready, and I still am not wanted, so I must move on.

As I stumble through the desert, still blinded by the pain and the tears in eyes, I see no more oasis's ahead of me, or any that I can revisit.

My canteen is running dry, and I fear my knife is become more of a friend every day I travel on without an oasis.

I shall fight till the end, but it is a losing battle, and the victor is near.