Rudderless

It is an odd feeling
but unexpectedly exhilirating;
an end of emotion, a distant detachment.

I have tried until I'm tired of trying.
I have given till the well ran dry
but nothing is enough
and still the failings cast their shadows
and eclipse the many things
that might be rightly praised.

So, far from the land 
and far from landmarks I once knew,
I wait some changing in the wind
to catch the fabric of these worn and tattered sails
and start to fill them once again.

Who can tell where winds will blow?
Who can tell where I will end, 
so rudderless before the storm?