The Vote of Confidence
Persistence with choked breath
is mere folly; true, here are the seeds,
black and misshapen, that I cast
To sprout in unhappy soil.
And true there is little way in which
to reach into this saintly space
and pull the perfection through.
I once tried to array myself
in the words and deeds of truth and justice.
Would that now were so, could that
complex translation float seamless free,
and grant the strength deserting me.
Dust, layers, surround and muffle,
brushed off but ingrained in a very skin
that cannot detach by word or whim.
And the eyes from all around now narrow,
day by day, to observe as one would,
in darts of drying sunlight...turn