A drop in the bucket

A drop in the bucket
 
I’m being asked for my identification –
I’m a bit player in some grandiose production,
 
a walking heartache, passing through
a shit storm on my way to the glory land.
 
My thoughts are a broken record;
my intended destination that distant blue range. 
 
My poetry is turning into a diary
and who wants to indulge in that confusion?
 
Who I am is a drop in the bucket. 
A drop in the ocean, shifting with the tides. 
 
A drop of perplexity
and, by faith, of divinity.
 
O child of God, you are being prompted,
in your latter years, to trek through the wilds.