The next thing always belongs

Now that I have aged,

And the noise around me subsides,

I look around, perplexed

Old habits leak through the cracks,

 Create disturbances in the seamless shield.

Maps of discovery, I once labored upon,

Are coiled, ends ripped, forgotten.

What is waiting at the end of

The road yet undiscovered?

Is it false all the same?

In reality was I always alone.

Those who could tell me

No longer alive,

Maybe a way of survival,

Wrapped neatly  in a dream,

Breathing- in the right to exist,

Standing up for my place in the universe

Yet robbed of my roots,

Denied any relations to a past,

 To which I will always belong.

Hymn to The muse still guiding my hand,

To serve the music in my mind.