Running Low

It seems just lately,
The lesson life is teaching,
Is all about preparation.
I feel as though unaware,
Of my fragile tiny existence,
My spirits ebb, to and fro.

I am left now in peril,
Of being stranded as a stranger,
Alone in my invisible world.
Without the fuel of life,
I am but a furtive hope,
Of the being I could become.

Here whilst I wait longingly,
For a hand that can care,
I meditate on all of life's questions.
Answers come much more slowly,
Of course it is inevitable,
That be, what is so.

What would it be like ?
I find myself asking,
That we never made mistakes. 
How would we know ourselves,
If not through a tragedy,
Or a test of our will?

Preparation to be always full,
Is itself a tiresome pursuit,
Yet I try always to become it.
That, not I, but my spirit,
Achieve all that is great,
To the glory of my life.