Roadmaps
but there are none
the mind's configuration
confused, vague, nebulous
misty--fed by pure imagination

it's not like nailing
a pin on the map
of life and declaring:
these routes I've found!

each phase of life
takes its own bend
nothing could be charted
with precision
from start to end

there are no formulas
only hunches and guesses
it's like playing chess
with a non-existing person
there's no checkmate
a meaningless preoccupation
nothing leads to a logical solution

only time and self
moving forward
to some unknown land
nothing for sure
could be grasped
but the uncertainty on hand

there are no roadmaps
how often we are blind-folded
groping and searching
doubting and struggling
with pieces of  jigsaw-puzzle
in an existence we couldn't understand.