Why when I look do I see only the wounds and not the victory they have bought?

Why, when I cast inward, are all that’s cast back the echoes of pain and not the gentle reminder of suffering’s end?

Why can I not express my feelings directly instead of disguising them in tedious metaphor?

What game do I play with myself and why am I surprised that even when I win I lose?

These thoughts become a labyrinth, emotions the hedgework walls, and each descriptive metaphor merely another dead end.

How does one get their bearings when navigating within?

What glittering constellation of reason or firm compass of morality will allow me to find my way back to myself?

And , of course, how did I lose my way to begin?

We’re told all reality is perception, all desire ego, all struggles a game, all suffering in your head...

But no matter how good the map, it is useless if you dont know where you are right now.

Then all remains potential 

Clutched, miserly within, until even the gleam of possibility cannot illumine your ravaged soil.