The failing virtue
measured by the
rising vice.
Both in place
according to the
guilt complex.
And so a mind
made redundant seeks
to balance
the equation.
In search of
spirituality
it shakes its
heathen flag
against the
grey sky of
an early morn.
Beyond the traffic’s
tempest
there floats to
reason, alms:
the supplication
necessary
through the toxic
fumes.
In search again
in search as
always.
Enlightened I
shall carry
opposites – as questions –
in a gently tightened
fist;
ready to pulse,
to fizz,
to judge.
Ready to open –
extended…
The palm.
©TheHairyTeacher2013