Poetry Or Prose?

Another late night post, dissecting my over-burdened heart to a cyber-univerese full of complete strangers.

My life reads like a badly-written novel, with twisting plots that make no sense or have no continuity, and characters that are normal but memorable in their humanity.

The question is, is my life summed up with poetry or Prose?

Poetry has a strange mystery to it, each stanza following the last as it develops a theme of profundity, flowing, and liquid-like as idea and fantasy is quickly formed during the writing process, each theme flowing into the next, with no barriers of convention to hold it back.

Prose has all the definition of a legal document, each thought carefully selected to fit with the previous, an example of precision timing, resulting in a whole that is accurate and intended in it's meaning.

My life has been both of these things, at the moment it feels like neither.

My heart has been broken, that much is true. But the depth of it's broken-ness has increased each time, forming a small crack in my personality and outlook on life. I can feel it. The slow, dying, ragged, shallow breath of my past life, reflects a view of God and all things Spiritual that is ever so gradually becoming less and less important.

I love God, still, but I don't know what He's doing with my life. At the moment it's just aimless.

Without feature, without purpose, without guidance, without hope almost.

I hope I get this this job. I need a new start.