YCW retreat

On my (metaphorical) knees

Apart from piled-up platitudes, space is peppered;
more than words, it is the stance I take on a precipice.
Wrapped around ruminations, rough and rude errs to real;
when life breaks in, I sigh, but is it gone?
Are attitudes passable? Acts are always framed
in my relationship with the one to whom they are directed.
Years of yielding petty frayed not yets, to cry in humility,
yet a lifetime on my knees leaves me vulnerable.
Tests are early endings, shame, bleeding and death,
though every moment it waits to break into life.
Returning to interruptions, reaped from boredom and repetition;
I crave it, forget it, it pierces me through.