FINDING MY WAY HOME
By John Thomas Tuft
I’m not sure I’ve believed anything that I feel
Or ever tasted any of the tears I shed
Were they the salt of sadness over some true loss?
Or the sweetness of finding my way home instead?
The pleasures of pain squirreled away in secret
Or the cleaving of a heart with a single stroke
From where you are all the way to being here with me
I was counting blessings until I went broke.
Like a blind man chasing shadows
Or a snowflake that throws off a spark
Don’t open me up with a needle
I’m finding my way home in the dark.