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The Goal of a Goal



I'm wandering astray,
Just grass, mud and moss beneath.
I'm drifting away,
The ground is cracking below my feet.

I'm dribbling and kicking and dancing,
Going on and on as far as I can go.
But soon I'm alone, the ball's missing,
I've no goal in which to kick, no basket in which to throw.

I've been messing with paints for hours on end,
Mixing and matching and trying my luck.
The blobs on the paper mean neither sense nor nonsense,
I can't start 'cause it's the end at which I'm stuck.

Yes, it's the goal, that makes in-achievable achievable,
Before you start you need to consider the end.
No doubt you reach the clapper before the finish line,
But that strip of red ribbon is to which everyone's eyes attend.

I've landed in a supermarket from thin air,
Both my hands and my brain lie idle without the contents of the conventional shopping list.
I justify my condition by saying 'Was just passing by' ,
But the outcome is the resentful realization that's there's a bulk of extra and many a necessity missed.

Imagine that you're on board a flight that states no destination,
What if it took you to Congo and you'd been equipped for Greenland!
What if you'd hoarded your head with never-ending Danish vocabulary,
And ended up in front of a Pygmy -guide instructing in Swahilli!

Life is a path that can be given many synonyms and described by a tonne of adjectives,
But let me warn you not to dare to tread on it before you know it is XYZ you want to get to.
The right bag of feelings, the right notion of priorities, the knowledge to go about tasks on this road will soon attack you,
If to XYZ you assign a value which you promise never to renew.

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