I felt that you hesitated when you composed me dear Lord?

sitting in you spleen, embryonic in your everlasting midnight

celestial morning a poem ,bundled in teenager arms crying “life over”

hesitant, brooding and on the verge of saying what I always knew

“ She did not love me”

“ She did not want me”

33 summers and this highway high noon ,the light shines so achingly perfect and sure

“whose light is it anyway?” a sideway beggar moans

“it is mine”