Except, Perhaps

To live by our lights, alas, is to live
at least half blind as the lines of our lives
twine cunningly as any jungle vine,
I went where I was called, I went as well

where I was sent to find I knew not me
and discover the less of all I thought
as all my desires were wrought new, hammered
on the hard unflinching stone of quick time

we are born from our blindness to new sight
or so we would like to believe, but worm 
of doubt eats at conviction's ripe apple
even as it sways in harvest time's breeze

don't ask advice of me for I have none
to give, except, perhaps, learn to forgive