The Calling

What am I meant to do?

Such a long life and the decision couldn't be tougher,
When I stand at a threshold with multiple doors.

Am I to be an artist - paint all day long and sell my work for millions?
Am I to be an illustrator - doodle cartoons that make the world laugh?
Am I to be a writer - typing hundred words a minute, to win the Pulitzer prize?
Am I to decorate store windows and captivate the fancies of the shopping throng?
Am I to be a traveller - wander and experience the universe on a shoe-string budget?
Am I to be an educator - teach, play, nurture and influence the future?
Am I to be a dancer - pirouetting my way around the world?

One life. And there's so much one can be. Is there ever a time to decide? To give up one for the other? Would it reflect a lack of focus if I were not to abandon any? Something calls out, soft and musical, from the distance. I think it's the calling. What others identify so easily.

Perhaps it will come one day as I sit staring at the sea. Drop into my lap like a drop of rain. Crystal clear and shining. The calling. My calling.

Give bliss a miss?

When the dust and smoke settles down,
You can't help but frown,
The illusion was like sparkling wine,
Exciting, tasty, warm and fine.

But when the true eyes open and see,
You look so small before the fantasy,
Maybe you were better off without the trouble,
Now lie crushed, restless under the rubble.

Is there a way to say 'NO' to yourself?
To firmly put it away on the top shelf,
Where it can bother you no more,
So you can focus on a better door?

For true freedom means freedom from this,
Fleeting, mindless, shallow bliss,
As I slowly learn to fly with light wings,
My smile dances and my heart sings.