Anchored

There is a wind trail that blows by your conscience on the way to your convictions.
It wreaks of sweet confusion. Life giving confusion.
The child like stare into your own personal oblivion,
where anything goes. Where anything is safe to try.
There is no discipline, nor is there concern.
The world is a flower bed of experience ripe for the plucking.
Regardless of thought, or consequence, fickle and never ending.
What's just or unjust is a perpetual experiment.
Hamsters running on a wheel in your mind,
baited by the prospect of being SOMEONE.
Even if you already are.
baited by the notion that a great thing is on the horizon.
Though you have no concept of what constitutes a great thing.
baited by that magical moment when you find yoruself,
when it was always within you to take hold of yourself, and decide.
Until a day arrives when you realize you already had what you needed.
It was in your possesion since the very day you were born.
Right and wrong, just and unjust, acceptable, and unacceptable,
and the confusion you relish so blissfully in,
the confusion that binds you to yourself,
that confusion that "set you free",
really just anchored you down.