still searching for my way the right way to be still pondering what i ve done i m still thinking what i ve said still finding from within and all that i know is still not enough i m being held by the one shadow tormenting my soul the curving neck of the swan the slow turning of a bird s head so white its plumes and feathers its breast like the moon in water silent and tranquil it moves on the river in the calm i wander back on familiar roads i sense the marks i left on the hills i see the cuts and wounds of my deeds they make me muse on life up the hill and the mountain i look back i look down there flows the river of death and here the wind in my hair