Il Penitente

This is a poem I wrote about how I feel today.

Bones heavy with
Disappointment.
Footprints left behind
Are deep and permanently marked
In the concrete of this life:
A series of incidents,
Each rotting memory
Replacing disappiontment with heavier
Guilt and shame.

What have I done,
I cannot say.
But I know,
Because of this omniscient pain
That truly I am damned,
And verily I suffer
By my own hand.

Try to do the Right Thing
But who is there to say
What being good
Benefits and what it teaches
To decay.  What parts of me
Are dead now, I truly
Cannot say.

I used to dream of freedom,
Of sacrifice and wings but
Sacrifice is wrong, or is it right
Just to sacrifice wrong things?

I don't know what to want now,
As I wander through the maze,
To want for madness or peace:
For emptiness or full;
The concrete or the waves.

Anxiety is my penance:
I must suffer every day,
Blind to sunlight and the
Cleansing of the rain.
Il Penitente is my name.