In this life, we have no certainty.
Our next day; never guaranteed.
Uncertain of our actions to come,
or the consequences that follow.

I soar not, through the night,
like the bat overcoming blindness.
But rather, crawl in the filth,
scared, hiding beneath the surface.

Like a knee, that only gives one way,
I have no ability of ownership.
I fuss over, and fear exposure,
for that awful feeling of humility.

In my silence, I am repenting,
begging forgiveness and mercy,
swearing I can control my sins,
I act with the best intentions.