Sow and germinate our Pride,
stretching our will and want to cover
what we made need-later.
Iniquity, I admire this perfect little life
I have made
to dwell in and upon,
check in and out as I please...
What it seems-better to me-is my reality
I forget...why did I come here, compelled-
so I step away, hide things from myself,
to discover If
I like those memories,
Truthfully.
Like you, before me,
I see anew at half way through-
though it was forced upon me
by reflection,
Virgil left a note saying
the rest is up to self sufficiency
Trust me
in finite, it is not complete.
Not for me.
So proud I am, but ineffective.
Standing here before you,
not knowing why, unable to convey
all the answers in art, the way I see it-
it pleases me enough to persist, as though
amour-proper was more than acceptable.
Painting by Sanford Robinson Gifford [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
