where shall I turn now that the chapter has ended?
I again place the volume back on the shelf.
I have read and re-read the words countless times,
practising my measured performance
to an audience keen to relive the glory days,
but, those days are as finished as this
dusty old book. It is time to start a fresh page.
This is where I struggle, for I have no words
and I fear the uncertainty.
The vulnerability that
would come from me
simply and honesty being
rather than a carefully rehearsed avoidance
causes my heart to rush
and my steps to falter.
The past's definitions feel safer,
even if living them is denying reality.
Oh future there are no signposts!
There is only a blank page,
a small measure of confused faith
and the safety of the past receding
into the distance of yesterdays.
So I am waiting again for God knows what
and silently pray that my trust
is not based on naive falsehood.