When I look into the abyss,
Is it just as confused as I?
What does the dark depth ponder,
When it gazes into me?
Am I impossible?
Can it not even
Fathom all my pieces,
Or how they fit?
How cool the wind will blow -
But is the western sand
Still hot when the storm claws at my face
To scratch out my eyes?
Am I a seat to be despised,
Deposed like a future convict
Railing at the charges held over my head?
Why is it judging me
For not playing along with the game I had no part in creating?
I conject no scheme of ill intent.
Peace, I bid Thee well.
I go my way.
I think I will not include too many notes for this one. It is about feeling the object of scrutiny.