To Valerie
Paranoia, thy name is Valerie
My buried bones you've bared.
My skeleton is out of the bag
And my cat is out of the closet.
I feel exposed to the discernment of a despot.
I cannot hide, cannot secrete, cannot cover my shame.
My guilt en-clothes me
And remorse envelopes me like a shroud.
I wish for the cloths of Heaven
But get only the habiliments of a mendicant.
I long for the raiment of a royal
But I'm clad in the rags of a ruminant.
All that glitters isn't gold
And all that reeks isn't excretia.
So I'll stand on my purloined principles
And lament my lack of laurels.
Like Sisyphus seeking his summit
Or a Prometheus that forgot his fire.
But I'll insist on my fated freedom
Like the bird on the wire, or the drunk in a midnight choir,
I have tried, in my way, to be free.
Copyright © Gary Thomas | Year Posted 2013
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