Confession

Trying to make amends for the hubris of these last years,

running toward while running away.

Resisting nostalgia of counterfeit rainbows

as the sky does not care what you hope.

Trying to bury the white winged raven of ego,

leaving these bogus lucifers aghast at the manifesto I produce,

detailing sorrow and regret in heaps on the surface.

Myriad examinations of decisions produce only weariness;

bought by arrogance, paid for with weeping.

Half-heartedly hitch hiking to Gilead

to leave my graceless soul penitent from now on.