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