The truth is

that I am not

a sage

I am a common traveler


to find my way


I did not mean

to have

good intentions

to live a life

of a million



the truth

is that I

did not navigate

that I stumbled

upon the promised land



I am just as lost

as you

I am the changing seasons

a sky once filled

with clouds

now blue


I am the leaves

vibrant, red and gold

one minute

then brown, and withered

falling, crepe-like hands

of the old


I too have one foot

in the grave

It’s just that I

am not complaining

I am trying my best

to be brave.