Richard Picciuto refers in this poem to our journey through life…it is from his first book, Reunion With a Truant Pen.

THURSDAY’S CHILD

While journeying into my mind
There were no maps that I could find

But being me, I didn’t care
For I’m the one that’s living there

I’ve searched the past but came up short
The conscious mind limits report

I then used powers to try and probe
The deepest recesses of every lobe

I realized I must start slow
Like Thursday’s Child, I had far to go

And when some answers seemed in my grasp
I found them covered with a hasp

Some had padlocks, some had pins
All must be opened to enter in

Did I know enough to crack the code
I felt this was a lengthy road

I roamed some paths and there I found
More questions and some shaky ground

Intricate in every phase
A difficult path, a complex maze

And on the walls some history
Back farther than the records see

The mind has links to ages past
Into each new mind the die is cast

I’ll still probe myth, a mighty mast
More recent than reptilian past

This journey winds deep inside
Some facts our minds attempt to hide

The pain, abuse, and suffering
I must learn of, so I can spring

To open safes, gates, and doors
Or I’ll be stuck on the ground floor

And so with insight I’ve come to see
That choice is mine eternally

I have to probe and seek and find
But then options are clearly mine

A better life is what I seek
It’s time now to be strong, not weak

So with anticipation flowing
A journeyer on my trip still going

Committed to the very end
To find myself and then ascend