A Self Born Mission - By H L Dowless

I’m on a self born mission,

Like a bat out of hell,

In an apathetic mental condition,

Riding a midnight carousel.

I don’t know exactly where I’m going,

But I feel like I must hit it big,

Cause the real truth is well worth knowing,

If life is still worth a fig.

All around I go,

Back and forth all over again,

Time is winding down I know,

When I ponder where I’ve already been.

Nowhere has a solid landing place,

But maybe now I’ve finally found one,

Yet I still feel like a stone drifting through outer space,

Barreling toward the flaming sun.

If I could turn around I would,

Go back and begin all over again,

But yet if I was returned into the same place

It’s well understood,

I’d probably trod the same trail where I’ve already been.

At least now I know the proper plan,

I must try hard one more time,

At the very least get some land,

Since now I’m so far away from my prime.

I’m going from nothing upward again,

From completely busted toward the blue sky,

I must catch a decent gust of wind,

I have no choice but to make another try.

If I can make it until I draw my social security,

I can strap a pack on my back and live out of that;

Then a steady income would grant me some assurity

And I could roam about like an alley cat.

In all honesty

I must make a harder try,

I must conquer the American dream,

I can’t explain the reason why.

I think I’ll get a tract of land,

This time I’ll do it all right!

Life in my own shack would be grand,

Then I’d own my day and night.