February 27, 1993 9:06 PM
I have found my calling.
Perhaps I’ve found an avenue
to help myself understand the world;
I know what I have to do.
I must build until I find somewhere
where I think I’d like to stay,
harvest the land that I’ve chosen as mine
until my eyes turn grey.
I may be toiling past the stars
and plumbing the depths of night,
but I know where I’m going, not where I’m headed
and I know I’ll turn out alright.
Posted by froggacuda
Categories: Poetry
Tags: Eye, Michael Stipe, Night, REM, Stars
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