I am tired of this now being,

I am tired of this being now.

My life… stretched out and played in full,

like an old accordion drawn out on a chord,

then squeezed back again (in reverse).

Over and over and over.

Memories come and go in time and space,
the very nature of my being folding and unfolding,
me the past, me the present, me the future,
like a well-worn street map.
And always, always,
the place I want to be
lies on the creases – just out of reach.

These streets that once did take me outside myself,
now move me only rarely.

I am tired of this life being
I am tired of this being my life.

Truth then… a choice of streets but which path to follow?
Take the dogmatic roads least travelled, or
pay a toll each time you unravel your belief?
To seek salvation in doing, or
to find forgiveness in faith?

If either path takes you to heaven above, what need
have I of earthly brown as my resting place?
If the blue of heaven might truly be real –
can I be safe in faith?
Safer than in the solid earth
that I presumed would take me back?
And if safe in faith,
is there then hope for me?

Yes, I am done with this life now being.
But I am not yet done with this being my life now