THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

In deep thought I am this night, this day, this hour, in this way. Forgiveness seems so far away for deeds undone, done, mistakes made, understandings laid aside. Somewhere, deep inside, I cried, cry, reach out, live and die. Somewhere I cannot find the answers to the questions I’ve put before myself. Somewhere there is piece missing, found, lost, covered with dust, washed clean, then disposed of with the garbage that seems to give birth to more pain, sorrow, shame, covered with blood. How can I not look at myself with anger, despair, and despise that which is within this bag of weak flesh and bone.