THE WILDERNESS OF SIN

I think

about the 

stench sometimes

and the groaning

and if any of the children 

lost themselves

to the idea of walking forever

and the restless hands of 

an untamed heart.

I blame everyone

human,

even my own face

looking in the mirror,

and I always blame You 

most of all.

What am I doing here?

Am I doing this right?

Why are they looking at me?

What is that smell 

and how can it roam

free through history

and yellow papered pages

into my lungs and deeper

down still?

This momentary march towards

death.

This everything

I can't

define.