Searching

It’s funny how in the end things work out.
While trying to find someone who knows what you’re about
A person can spill their whole life story to one
And those same words fall short of reaching the sun.

Dark, dreary and storm oceans resign
For a few words reach the skies
Not quite to the sun, not quite to the moon
But in the right place not a moment to soon.

Life has no rhythms, it has no rhymes
We all end up marching at different times.
But only a few end up in the same clique
And find themselves walking on the same stick.

Until one finds where they belong
They must try singing different songs.
Learning and failing is what will do the trick
Waiting until they find their own niche.

+Return