I’m not sure of the time,
or the day of the week.
I’m not certain that I hear,
or that I even speak.
It seems that I can see,
as the words become more clear.
I’m sure that I can feel,
as I live in constant fear.
I’m probably indecisive,
then again maybe not.
I’d like to think I think,
but unfortunately not a lot.
Uncertainty is a problem;
it’s something we all share.
I’m not sure you agree,
I’m not sure that I care.
There is one thing I do know,
this poem is nearly done.
I’m not sure what comes next,
but the future has begun.
On pins and needles is where I sit.
Awaiting a place where I’ll fit,
left or right or in between,
high or low or a place unseen.
A place we need to call our own,
upon arrival we’ll have grown.
Run or walk the journey’s long,
skip or crawl, at worst we’re wrong.
Time will tell when time it is.
The challenge then is to pass the quiz.
Take it slow and recall the past.
Our brightness shines with contrast.
Lines untangled an unsure bet,
points of view is what we get.
The big picture seen sets us free.
Clarity felt makes we of me.
We dig the grave in which we lay.
The depth of witch grows every day.
The paths we take have forks unknown.
Some are well-traveled, others overgrown.
In matters of love hearts need certainty.
And mind’s certain of infinity.