I must confess a certain ambivalence <br />concerning my intentions, when clearly, <br />I do not vision the connection between <br />my “place of agency” and my inner spaces. <br /> <br />I must now critically confess <br />to my multicolored faces, <br />historical, as I recall, <br />and subject my reflections <br />to generally vague recollections <br />of my supposedly “deeds” of execution. <br /> <br />This leaves me with a seeming conception <br />of so many generally pithy impressions –– <br />such an endless expanse of blank spaces –– <br /> <br />All these years with many fears <br />I dedicated to the construction <br />of a life of solid constitution, but alas –– <br />what happened to my resolutions –– <br />the moments piled up <br /> <br />and I have ended up with no monument. <br />All I behold is a vision of skeleton bones, <br />feeling the wind whistling through, blowing <br />and rolling tumbleweeds across desert sands, <br />and a need for final absolution. <br /> <br /> - March 25,2008<br /><br />Ben Gieske<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/confession-46/
