Wanderer

Composed 8/5/13
Description: A day late posting of yesterday’s Daily Prompt: Ballerina Fireman Astronaut Movie Star. (I did write it yesterday; other things just distracted me from posting it.) Anyway, as a college student approaching her senior year, I think about this question of “what do I want to be when I grow up” often. As a child I really never had a solid idea, and even though I almost have my major now, I still face endless possibilities, and my desire changes weekly.

I could never read the stars
Or find my path in dusty books
I wandered along with the wind
Letting it push
Here
There
Anywhere

I had no plan
My guide strangely silent
As a child I loved the wind
Its push
The possibilities
But now I long for a wooden path
And an outspoken escort
I don’t mind the where
As long as there is one

I could run in so many directions
And win the race in all
But which will hold the grandest prize?
I agonize
Which trail to take?

Senior Year

Composed 4/30/13
Description: I am just about to finish up my junior year here at my university. Then it’s senior year, and then it’s… well, the real world. Everyone around me has been freaking out about what they’re going to do after they graduate. I am not excluded from that group. As a psychology major, there are a list of things I could do. I’ve pretty much ruled out a phD (the most surefire way to make money), but that still leaves me so many options. Do I try to get by with a bachelors? Maybe not. Grad school then. But for what? Should I get my MSW like I’ve been thinking? Get a masters in counseling and work with youth? Or go into legal mediation? What if I hate what I choose?

Happy dreams
Melt into nightmares
As the clock counts down
As the pages are ripped from their binds

Bright colors surround me
Friendly oranges, yellow, pink
But on the horizon
Unknown hues loom
Cold blues and black
Swirls of flashing red

How will I survive that desolate wasteland
With only my wits to aid me
Only a backpack stuffed with
Parlor tricks?
They mean nothing out there

What if my compass is wrong?
What if I take the wrong turn?
My life is doomed to wandering
Dissatisfaction, regret

And yet I have no choice
Hands force me forward

A trumpet blows
I wake
Among tossed pillows
And wrinkled sheets
Hot dew steaming on my skin

I arise
As the clock ticks
To take another few
Unwanted steps
Toward that unknown place