The journey that never was
A kind of exile you are now in
unable to walk the same aisles,
sit in the same pew as others,
hands folded quietly in your lap.
Your eccentricity showing through
the burst seams of your threadbare coat.
You’ve dropped the things you’re supposed to
care about; your interests few. Old friends
(who never really were) have drifted away
while you to some measure have left behind
your loved ones, for their sake,
to go searching for the eternal connection.
You follow the flow of an uncharted river
as you push toward oblivion
and wonder when this latest rug
will be pulled out from under your feet.
It doesn’t really matter anymore.
It’s all a part of the journey that never was.
O child of God, should it be surprising
that the new life is nothing like the old?