Life to a Soft Journalist

Who am I?
Princess, poet, working girl,
Mother, wife, lover, friend…

What am I here for? What am I to be?
The answers were getting clearer
Until the mirror shattered.

I’ve never had a time for me
Although I’ve had me-centered selfish seasons.
Am I starting my life?
Am I coming into my own?

It’s been a long road.
I know where here is–
Dark, swirling, yet energizing.
I know where the start-there is–
Small, quiet, stifling.
I don’t know where the end-there is–
I know it’s eternity for sure,
But I don’t know the where of the end-there of this life.

Why?
Why am I here? Why is any of us here?
Besides the passion of our parents and the power of a Creator,
Why are we here?

How do I deal with the darkness?
How do I rest in uncertainty?
Only by walking with the Shepherd
Can any of this be laid to rest
Without answers that satisfy intellect.

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