Sonnet of doubt and goals.

The bed is not organized, nor is my heart

folds in the blanket hide what is here:

the longing, sorrow, and loss of a start

for a well established, sincere order.

The night and the wind enjoy their merry dance

while i with myself seek dance to claim

the ups and downs and the goals of this chance

to re-shelve the books of my  ultimate aim.

that aim, the absolute i always hear about

from a distant cousin and a close friend

never seen it now or in the past

but maybe i will see it in the end

hope is the blanket drawn that keeps me warm

facing any nihilistic dread, hope wins the storm. torm.