Tormented fingers
clenched tightly in a fist
of condescending blues.
Maple leaves and acorns
strewn about the landscape,
and I, on my knees
reaching longingly and hopefully
for a past I’ve left behind.
Understanding and nurturing
those thoughts of ambiguity,
the reckoning of the present
resonates soundly within and
encores prevail from
future reverberations.
I continue to question,
while on my knees,
all that is worthy and good
and yes, even meaningful.
I often stand corrected,
like a blizzard’s whiteout,
however confused I get, and
you, always on my mind,
and again, you find me
floundering on my knees,
searching, groping, exploring
the world...on my knees,
trying to rise and be counted.
While on my knees,
bloodied and wounded
from the heat and the pavement of life,
and the hardness and complexities of time
and the unyielding fact that
I must remain on my knees forever,
if I am to survive another day.