I will never be accepted as Nickolas Stone. I won't be looked up to for inspiration. I will be a vagabond for as long as I walk this land. I feel my body should be cast into the depths of the sea as it's only home. My heart looks towards the the everlasting horizon for comfort, where I see my Lord waiting. My purpose, lost in translation. Yet to be spoken to my ears ringing with discouragement by many peers for years not to be counted. My only rest being at my knees face down waiting for a word to be spoken for the one who raised me from the dust I lay in.

I find inspiration in abundance but direction dry. Acceptance and praise far from the lips of my witnesses. They are disappointed when they look at the crown I can't stop casting upon my skull for there has yet to be a place for my hand to be place. No wrench to tighten a nut. No ear to catch my words spilling out of my mouth. When, oh Lord, will you bless me to be a blessing. Where is the end of my journey in which You've set me on? What is my destination? Where will I lay my thoughts down for you to clean away? When will my tears for the lost mean something? When will my love be allowed to spill over for the hands reaching out? God keep my head above water.