Dare I say, lost
Confused even
Hemorrhaging at the directions
I know which way is north
But not where life is going
No map can plan that course
Charting maps with alacrity
Set sail as Magellan
Yet land with such insipid wording
That the book of tales I pen is a thesaurus of fabrication

Destiny come to those who run
Outlive your ending or see it undone
Pray it be simple to accept
Or die living as the inept

Just what am I meant to be?
Hands on the piano
Brush on the canvas
Voice on the microphone
Hands on the papers

But do I stop there
Or is talent channeled forward?

Why stop at destiny
When I define it?

The new hurt
Is not saying goodbye
The honest pain
Is seeing someone else say hello

I am number, I am statistic
My platform is digital heuristic
Built as soft and meant to harden
I am statue of Prometheus discarded
I am flat, I am round
I am guess to which we are bound
All but speechless, tools in hand
Talent defined by the holy man
I am truth, I am fable
I am guidance who is unable
Under the sea and burnt so high
My survival is all but fatefully nigh
I am Goliath, I am cell
My people are the building blocks of hell
Golden gates and iron bars
Basic texts and influenced memoirs
I am shelter, I am fear
Only today do the deaf hear
Live beyond burden and exhaust
Tales are told at an expensive cost
I am charade, I am enigma
Riddle me this: for what is my stigma?

I am honesty, I am lie
Conciseness with which we shall die
To be believer, to see as deceiver
To be born as simple conceiver
I am Poseidon, I am Neptune
Only one of which will die soon
Simple times of bearing song
Ages gone by where we were wrong
Built on faith, the blind do not see
Burning fields and dying trees
I am happiness, I am despair
I am the reason that you care
Run as Hermes, tread as Pheidippides
Gods you inspire are not as powerful as these
I am art, I am tale
I am the builder of this gale

I am success, I am fail
I am the human, I walk the ****** trail
I am individual, I am all
With simple words, We stand tall

Christmas alone?
I know what time of year it is, I just wanted to be here for you
Someone who could use it
A gift under their tree
Long rotting and wilted away
Sometimes a message needs to be ******* and left under the wrapping
Santa won't bring it
This gift can come every year if it needs to
Merry Christmas, blockhead
You can hate the spirit all you want
But others will bring the spirit with them wherever they go