We have all come from somewhere.... this is where I began.

We all have a past. A journey that we have taken which has brought us to where we are today, and formed us into who we are, or who we are becoming.

We all have a vision, even if it is deeply buried and we are as yet unaware of it, of who we want to be.

The task, the mission, is to reach that point where the vision and the reality of the person you are and the person you wish to be.... converge upon each other. That is not the destination in life... it is merely a resting place. A place from which you get to decide .... where to next.

I have a sad past. A lonely past. A painful past. The child inside me still requires much love, but now, at least, I am able to give her what she needs. I have reached that resting place on my journey. From here, my respite by the side of the road, I can reflect without tears.

I can embrace the ache that rises with the memories.

I can be safe and secure and give the child within that same peace and security that she has needed for so long.

This poem is not my own. It was sent to me by my Aunt, who knows where I have been, and the journey I have been on to meeting myself.

She saw me in these words.... and so do I.
Perhaps some of you will see YOU too.


It is written by:
Kristen Burns Darling

The wonder of the senseless waste

As I walk between love and hate,

The reasons why I have begun to exist

A little further into the mist.

For all the time I’ve spent alone

Wandering through this barren home,

No voice but the one inside my head

That wonders if I am alive or dead?

All the things I’ve learned to live without

Have been replaced with pain and doubt,

Every line drawn in the sand

A measure of how unimportant I am.

Each and every tiny meager request,

Denied, becomes a little piece of death

So I fade a little more,

Less heard above the silent roar.

How long I wonder, will I go on?

Losing the thought before wondering too long.

If there is one thing I must confess,

I’ve never dealt well with loneliness

It’s not of being alone that I speak,

For it is solitude I often seek.

It’s more like being misunderstood

Which does my heart and soul no good,

The feeling of feeling nothing at all

That comes to long from pounding brick walls.

The sensation of being unconnected

Scrutinized and then rejected,

Left to wander here and there

At one with the knowledge that no one cares

Well, at least not deeper than skin deep,

It’s this type of thing that makes me weep

And then rail at God, and Destiny, and Fate

Shaking clenched fist, myself berate.

Gouge at my senseless foolish heart

Rip and tear myself apart,

If the defective part I could only find

No longer would I truly mind,

Like a cancer to be cut away

I would tear it out this very day,

I would cast it out from inside of me

Throw it deep into the sea!

Then never again would I believe

In the magic that the stories weave,

And I shouldn’t mind that I must roam

Throughout the world with no real home.

If only of course, is only a wish

So I must continue on like this,

Like the sunshine and the rose

I will always be known as one of those

Who secure and loved is in full bloom,

But like the summer is always doomed,

To fade away without the light,

A faint memory of this wretched life.