Ground

My passions, I struggle to realise

For barriers have made their presence felt,

Shunning shapes, distorted shapes

Of me, the possible one,

Who could mend wounds, and well,

Whose recklessness instead is my soul,

The blasted loner falling between the ideals.

Down there is a way for me to go

In my search for a landing place,

That I need shed my foetal skin

And be renewed, not born again,

And reclaim in thoughts the times

When giving had mattered,

That thoughtful giving of myself.