3/20/11

Who are the drivers in my head,

That steer me safely on my way?

When otherwise, I walk half-dead,

Remotely conscious, lost, and dazed.

Who are these pixies wielding will,

When mine own has none left to give,

As duties somehow stay fulfilled,

As life continues somehow lived.

Perhaps they always held the rains,

As, falsely, I perceived control,

Such vanity, now all in vain,

My next steps known not to my soul.