See, I am His whipping boy.
Except for the pain,
uncertainties abound
thereabouts of life;
nothing should interest
unless there is deeper stake.
Found everything a commonplace.
Nothing to look forward to,
but for the past revisiting;
too tired and vexed.
No new steps came to me
that should be belonging to God.
Listened to Him from the above--
an ear pressed against the floor.
Crawling things entered my each pore.
2007-07-05
18:54:25
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7 answers
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asked by
seshu
4
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry