Given Places
July 23, 2008
(From All Summer, Little Rain Pt. 17 of 50)

I cannot.

There is no formula specially devised for one
to be ennoble of a gentry, no matter a soul's
entry into society.

All there is, is only that endmost point realized
at the beginning, at a place, at the origin, where
all are put, which plays on the stage of propensity
of where each soul could be.

I say "I cannot" for reason of fate and true lax
knowledge. My goal, if there is one, is scattered
assumption.

All else will be handled freely, unevenly by the
world court, as it, of course, will assize where
my quest throughout life could aim.

Probity.

I have known since the taste of milk that to hanker
a right is to contort what burns so brightly and completely,
and I must curb, often, a lead for it be plausible, successful,
easy.

Where I am, I cannot wonder and sigh when others grief
is confirmed by sight, mental perception, instinct, a guess
seemingly irksome on the opposing end.

These others who suffer the incursion of being rooted
without the willing flow of expansion, to know choices,
freedom, will further fume with haunted hearts, be alive
without straying thoughts.

© 2008 Jarrod C. Lacy