At helm while directing
in a muddle I seem lost

Caught in sort of vortex
my own demons I accost

A belief in old prowess
subsistence still directs

Belying any of the doubt
enroute which interjects

Almost at a tethers end
with upshot not in sight

The day brings new hope
each night begets a fright

Every jab at my foresight
pierces my real zest anew

To trudge upon unknown
and walked by far and few