A Life in Winter.

I am commanded
Or so I presume.
I follow as ordered,
(Then haven’t we all)?
I listen within my tent;
My skin-tent, carnal.
Vetting self (using The Confiteor)
For the classless calamity X,
Which is the descriptor of life,
And of which I find no other equal.

I have passed on,
Often and intentionally.
I have rigged the mortise
And levered like a lock,
To preserve in secrecy,
All but my Sacred secret.
I have happened and hampered.
I have collided and chained.
I have been missed and represented.
I have been missed again, having eloped,
And I have at least once been concluded.
I have since, breathed as though it was my last,
And yet I have lasted, all be it at last.

I have confounded judgement,
Because, I pierced all with your pointers.
When measured I out weighed all of your scales.
When dissolved I became the solution.

In jealous days,
Oh how I canvas painted with arched insight,
The designs of my own convulsions.
Then, I cleaved the texture of my wild delight
And set aside that small kindling,
To abide in my winter white.

I have combed with harrow
A furrow through most  of life’s emotions.
And although these hard lessons
Have carved me straight.
Their reasoning’s have left me,
Far too narrow.

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