Finding Me

Paralyzed by ennui, fear, sloth and
such vices that soullessly
imprison men in their minds,
blind, and stumbling to find their souls.

A dash of superstition, bits of regret,
Scarcely any, now though;
The occasional flickering of angst
amid the ashes born of scattered angry coals.

And, yet, surviving by clinging to moonbeams
Hope, joy, love, lust, and warmth
of and from people of all kind
Swimming in the dark, alone, but in shoals

And coming up to gasp for air
Remembering suddenly that it is there
Reaching out uncertainly with
the faltering steps of newborn foals.