The Question At Hand

Nothing ever added up
In the math game that is you
Subjected and subjugated
Dense and overpopulated
Random evidence only grew

When the subject of my fealty
Was laid upon the floor
Your allegiance was alleged
Your countenance just a wedge
Multiplied rotting spore

Generosity all but lost
In a tantrum that cost
Worship and wisdom
Incidence of fiefdom
Incarnations of love
Are wicked and wrong
And the question at hand
Is on where I belong

In appointing yourself queen
Of all that is us
Besting and bequesting
Judicious and jousting
Me, the targeted blunderbuss

Rousing inside and soon out
Blade sinking in and well driven
Quixotic and besotted
I’s crossed, T’s dotted
The foundation was finally riven

Curiosity all but lost
With a taciturn cost
Freedom and vision
Incidence of derision
Demarcations of love
Left out far too long
And the question at hand
Is knowing where I belong

This entry was posted in Poems and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s