All along The backward paths Gates close, And darkness Creeps closer, As memories die. The future Looms ominous And shrouded, Mysterious, Foreboding And sinister. But I am forced To face my destiny, Whether it is Good or ill, Despite my skill Or lack thereof To understand And cope With its uncertainties. I hear the bars Clang shut behind, Each awful echo An icy blade Embedded in my Empty soul. What is my goal? All I see Is mist; I do not know Where to turn. I do not want To give up My selfish right To choose The channels Of my chartless life! But strife Is all I've had, Since I Grabbed the map And wheel And dared the gale To rob me Of the pleasures I desired. Must I give To God The tiller Of my Life? Why! Must it be He Instead of me Who says How and when and where I shall come and go? God, I rail At Thee! I feel the devil's Bitter bile Rise within me, As I come To demand Recompense for all I've been cheated of. All I wanted Was a little love! Precious little Is all I've had. Why make A Job of me? Three decades I've held my Open, empty sack Before Your throne And watched You cast Only crumbs to me, As others feasted From Your groaning board. Do You love Humility? Must I govel At Your feet? I would rather starve! And I likely shall, For pride Is never fed its fill. Still-- give You Control of every will And whim? Good God, why! You've never yet Taken me anywhere I'd want to go, Save once... And that time It was only So You could test me In the end. Why should I Trust You? Yet, I cannot Even trust myself.
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