It Is Time
This is for the lack, the journey on the way back.
Trying to find a place that once felt like home.
A poem to keep me around so I don't roam.
To see if anybody out there was keeping track.
I walked out into the fog thinking this was it.
No where left to turn without getting hit.
Each step was heavier than the last.
The haziness inside my heart was heavily cast.
Now you know so long ago that I was scared as hell.
To find myself here today answering the toll of the bell.
The fog has lifted and I think that I see clear.
But I'm still not too sure just where I should steer.
The path beyond the journey is only for the grave.
The frightened soul win's only if they are brave.
Fantasy is store bought praise, nary worth a dime.
Staring life right in the face, I think that it is time.
Copyright © Robert Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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