Robert Sheridan

Fixed doubt constant, like a pilgrim band
One that obligates, does not change
Values itself in relation to idle variables
Solutions provided by theory, never denied
The difference between the distances from any point to let it ‘B’
With its’ standardized values whose parameters form the unpromised land
Its’ effectiveness obtrusively defined
Measured by sorrow’s ability to capture me at such a young age
Relates its’ constant velocity to my perpetual wish
Imprints an idea in my already clouded mind
Constant tears dripping have hollowed out my soul
The realm of my inner secrecy now public domain
Always in constant acceleration, always in constant retreat
I gravitate toward its’ pull, the day is the night
Inadequate fences erected against its’ unfairness, holes in the links left unguarded
I find myself sacrificing the essentials, doomed like a listing ship
With my inner voice crying, into the abyss formed by tears I leapt
Three fingers up in succession: one for sorrow; one for self-pity; the dying one for silence surmised
The impatience endured is un-godlike
Took the beaten path of sorrow, lead to where sorrow is unknown
Forgot it was often remembered as emotional strife
The abyss forms a river that enters the plains as a torrent, then a malicious stream
Enclosed by body after body of the condemned, tender for another’s pain
Held in place until the sorrow makes us wise.

'2007'