Morning Prayer


I am too enchanted with my failures,

Too immersed in my orgy of self-doubt.

Like a withering rose, I approach my end

With placid unease. What might I have been,

A question unanswered in the Universe.

What did God know when he made me,

And when did S(he) know it?


This has been sitting in my draft folder for some time, now.  I don’t know what category, except personal, it which it belongs.  It’s not quite poetry (but then so little of what I call my poetry is), but I like and want to keep it.


About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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