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In my hubris, youth – I knew then
as much as I think I know now.
Only then I did not know when,
or where, or why, or how
it would all come together
nor would I know whether
I had what it would take
my world, my life to make
of what I think I know
or what shape or form it’d show ?
Does this mystic shadow of wisdom ?,
from long lost, past lives, come ?
There is this black, angry, cloud.
Upon eth my head, it doth shroud.
Could it be cosmic karma ?,
born of my delinquent ma, ma,
that biological creature, that female being
- birthing, wanting, never, me – incapable of seeing.
A speck of dust riding on the wind.
To her – I have known – I have sinned.
Has she been the distorted mold ?,
for every girl, every woman I hold
in the depths of my memories hoard
who have walked out my door, left me floored,
never to be an intimate part any more.
Should that make me angry, make me sore ?,
as I sit, lie, absorb in my room
just as I once did in the womb.
An innocent, confined and naked,
today, it is how I try and make it.
As then – all wrapped up, yet all alone
are my days and nights – on my own .
B. J. “A ” 2
August 15th 2004
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2014
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