Juberous

141 words·1m read
(Uncertain and reluctant)

I don't claim to be a saint,
Nor claim to be wise,
My stain do I hate,
But my foolishness I can't deny,
The more I try to draw a sense
from the foolishness of my wisdom,
The more I try to justify it,
The more I try to hide
the raiment of my pride,
Deeper I fall from the horizon,
Yet I wouldn't admit it.

Why boast and hide my shame?
Why not expose my dirt
so I may be washed clean?
Why push my filth under the bed
When Wisdom knocks at my door?
What exactly are my fears
That makes me hide my iniquity?
Why hide while I perish?
Why would I deny life
and find solace in death?
Why would I do this to myself?
Why? and again I ask why?
∞ ∞ ∞
— Cotek
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Words are light, stored as stardust.