In the midst of the journey of my life I find too many paths all equal in mystery yet I cannot be compelled to follow one with all conviction.

I know not where I am destined to follow or whom I am destined to follow with I know only what my heart is devoted to and that presents my only certainty That devotion so pure and white in truth is real in pain and certain misery of unfulfilled conviction.

I have no mind of future undertakings and only have the thoughts of what I think should be Yet in truth it has always been so. Then why am I presented with these paths all equal in mystery. Why me?

Why me?

In the midst of the journey of my life I find too many paths all equal in mystery yet I cannot be compelled to follow one with all conviction.

I know not where I am destined to follow or whom I am destined to follow with I know only what my heart is devoted to and that presents my only certainty That devotion so pure and white in truth is real in pain and certain misery of unfulfilled conviction.

I have no mind of future undertakings and only have the thoughts of what I think should be Yet in truth it has always been so. Then why am I presented with these paths all equal in mystery. Why me?

David Stockdale writes without agenda.