I Arose From the Morose Forms of My Blunders

For how much longer are you going to walk without realizing that you’re missing your feet?
How much longer will the winds hold you upright and balanced out of pity, though you lash out at their being too cold?
When shall your haughty dignity delve into the depths of its own frightened perspective, and confront the dry-rot consuming the womb of your soul?
You’re on the brink of death, holding onto this life by the mere form of its structures, as you deny the existence of shivers for want of warmth;
Moving along with what changes before you, with no chance of understanding how it is that you’ve changed with it
Please, for the sake of all creation, grow some courage and open your half-lit eyes so that you may confront what contradicts your own spirit
In order that you may overcome this slavish survival, and with the full force of function thrive
Please, for the sake of what’s left of your purpose, just try.

Equal Footing

Groundings, I respect you, and so expect nothing of you save that which emerges from your wishes.
May you produce time-honored tradition if the weather permits; and if not, may you become the weathered.
My existence depends upon you, yet I thrive whilst you repose.
Lord knows, despite my own becoming, that all is well with my work, and requires little of my moral ambition
Beyond the achievement of tender-loving care from time to time.
So, with your opportune consent, I long to channel to your core all available power and glory afforded me through the name of all that names,
And with provisions providing that all beginnings possess the potential to birth ends,
I hope for the sake of all else that endowed within my concentrated depths are seeds of vision and purpose, ad infinitum.
Amen.