Song of my waking

I sing the song of sympathy

I believe each word that speaks of me

Of humble, common, love of man

Seeing that which I want I am

I weave a web of desires love

And speak of angels from above

Descending on us graciously

With adornments shown thine to thee

Base and vile I crown with scorn

From high atop my throne of stones

Thrown forever, a shrinking chair

The height descends as death draws near

I know and don’t the things I do 

I breathe and center and return to view

The world beneath my faltering perch

That seeks to prove my waining worth

I try to hide my fear of death

Neath any plunder I have yet to heft

Searching seeking a curt desire

To waft above the muck that mires

A soul determined that life has meaning

If only I were worth entreating

The pattern I wish to never see 

Descends from heavens over me

While I was caught afraid and naked

High atop a hill not long my taking

Selling the gospels I once believed in

Aware at last I won’t be waking

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