Battling each
paradigm
I wandered alone
Straight into
the maelstrom
of thundering tomes

My nose
pointed North
spitting into the wind
Decision once made
a line crossed
from within

Reciting
a dogma
both precious and torn
The words fill my spirit
once lost
and forlorn

Chasing a promise
that’s eluded
so long
An Angel appears
to whose will
— I belong

(The New Room: January, 2025)