I am. . .

I am. . .
   Looking for it, that
   One thing I'm meant to do.
   Searching for a purpose.
   Trying to feel important.

   Lessons have been learned, but it seems
   Only more questions have
   Sprung up in the places I had hoped to find the
   Truths needed to guide me on the way.

   Little paths spread
   Out before me like the
   Small roots of a tree who, like me, is
   Trying to find a firm foundation.

   Late nights spent wide awake going over
   Options that seem either too far off or too
   Small to be of worth
   To anyone in this world.

   Long after I'm gone, shall
   Only my corpse, buried in a
   Shallow grave, be all that remains
   To let anyone know I was even here?


   Loneliness seems more of a friend where
   Once there were many by my side.
   Surely I'm still cared for, but
   Time and space have a way of making us forget.

   Longings remain to find that
   One person who understands my
   Soul better than anyone.
   Truthfully, I sometimes give up hope.


I am. . .
   Lamenting time spent, wasted
   On things that no longer matter. Why is it
   So hard see importance the first
   Time it comes around?


I am. . .
   Lost, lonely, and all learned
   Out. I'm tired of
   Striking out
   Time and time again.

But, most importantly, I know I am. . .
   Loved by the
   One who gave His
   Son
   That I might have life and joy to the fullest.