Battling each

paradigm

I wandered alone

Straight into

the maelstrom

of thundering tomes

 

My nose

pointed North

spitting into the wind

Decision once made

a line crossed

from within

 

Reciting

a dogma

both precious and torn

The words fill my spirit

once lost

and forlorn 

 

Chasing a promise

that’s eluded

so long

An Angel appears

to whose will

— I belong

 

(The New Room: January, 2025)