Monday, March 30, 2015

Room for One

Truly it is not what’s out 
there that presents my sure plight, 
keeping me from my delight.

Surely it is not some lout
next door awaiting to plot
my true and humble demise.

So it has to be the bout
convulsing here inside me
hiding from me such device

that with tick-tock precision
does the wrong I’d rather not,
shuns the right I know to do.

So be it, on the cushion
of contemplation there sits 
only me . . . myself . . . mere I.

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