Once, I was full of purpose.

Or thought I was,

Or thoughts made me follow a purpose,

Or was it a thought I liked to follow,

Or was the journey the purpose,

Or the idea of the journey,

Which gave me a purpose.

 

If I have a purpose,

Do I mean something?

And/or does the purpose give me meaning?

Or the meaning give me purpose?

Perhaps it was someone else’s purpose after all.

 

Seems like the more purpose I have the less I have,

Perhaps my purpose has been to follow desire,

And that is my purpose,

Or the intention of my purpose?

How can I tell?

 

By relinquishing my purpose?

Let it all be gone.

The pride.

  

Let it be gone.

My self-glory.

 

Let it be gone.

Thoughts of a different life or path.

Let it be gone.

 

The past mistakes.

Let them stand.

 

The past wins.

Let them live their lives.

 

My tendency to interfere.

Let it be gone.

 

 

My intention to love. And love only.

Let it remain and grow.

It’s been a long road,

Tarmac, concrete, dirt filled tracks and open fields,

They all keep coming regardless.

 

Still, the walking goes on,

Relationships, discussions, collisions, loving unions,

They all happen, not stopping progress.

 

And while the miles pass by quickly,

Nothing is achieved,

The impact left in a vapor trail, never tasted, always left behind.

 

So, at last, I see more trails ahead,

And realize, I have achieved nothing, and yet seem somehow glad,

Or at least not dissatisfied about it.

 

As I head towards home.