A poem

Image by morhamedufmg from Pixabay

All this light and nothing to see,
angry at the stars.
Athena sails across the sea,
preaching the word of Mars.

Wondering and wandering,
down dead-end roads of learning.
Fiery words inflame and smolder,
in books that keep on burning.

Understanding without meaning,
categorizing confusion.
The pageantry of gleaning,
what is real and what’s illusion.

Confident in conscience,
crusaders charge at treason.
The blind man has the common sense,
to wrestle God with reason.

Back and forth the pendulum swings,
in extremes we can be certain.
Peek between the shades of gray,
the light behind the curtain.

Where it all will end,
determined by the dawn.
The truth is everything remaining,
when everything else is gone.



Like you I realized before setting out that indie-publishing is a double-edged sword. So I look at it like minor league baseball (maybe even spring training). If you have the talent and commit to the game, you can, over the course of a few seasons, get picked up by the majors. But some people do make a living playing in the minors.

I don’t even like baseball or know too much about it, so this analogy might be off:)